


the stars through our souls

by profdanglais



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Idiots in Love, Weddings, all their friends are getting married, and eventual actual smut, and they don't want to face those weddings alone, fortunately they have each other, lots of references to smut, this is just a bit of silly nonsense to take my mind off things, wedding season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Emma and Killian are friends with benefits, and that's just fine with them. They have no desire to be in a relationship, with each other or anyone else. Still, it's no fun to go to weddings alone and since just about everyone they care about is getting married in the same summer, of course they agree to attend the weddings together. It just makes sense--if they go together they might actually have some fun, and it's not like spending three months celebrating love and commitment and seeing each other through their friends' eyes will have any impact on their feelings.Right?
Relationships: Anna and Kristoff, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Mulan Rouge - Relationship, Naval Beauty, Outlaw Queen, Snowing, Wooden Huntsman?, and Graham and August, yep it's a thing - Relationship
Comments: 141
Kudos: 322





	1. The Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of silly nonsense to take my mid off things, and I hope yours as well!

“God, I hate weddings,” groaned Emma, tossing the stack of invitations aside and rolling over to bury her face in Killian’s shoulder. “They’re such a waste. Money. Effort. Flowers. You have to buy dumb-ass shoes to match a dumber-ass dress and then you never wear either one again. Sometimes you have to _travel._ I hate them so much.”

“Mmmm,” he replied, rubbing her arm. “You’re preaching to the choir here, love. I’d face a firing squad before I’d subject myself to that.”

“Ha.”

He rested his cheek on her head, his hand still moving in a soothing caress along her arm, and they sat in silence for a moment.

“So what are we going to do about all these weddings, then?” she asked, gesturing at the pile of thick card stock and ribbon teetering at the foot of her bed.

“I suppose we’ll have to go to them, won’t we? Just because all our friends and family members decided to get married in the same summer, that’s not an adequate excuse not to be there to witness them tie the noose around their own necks. At least, none of them will accept it as an excuse. I wonder if we could invent an excuse. Is ‘wedding fatigue’ a thing, do you think?”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“I’m going to google it.”

He grabbed his phone and Emma sighed, collapsing back against the pillows. “I just hate the idea of going to all of these alone,” she said as Killian frowned at his screen. “People always give you such pitying looks.”

“Why do you have to go alone?” he asked absently.

“Who am I going to go with? Surely you’ve noticed I’ve been _sans_ boyfriend for a long time now. You’ve certainly been enjoying the benefit of it.”

“Indeed I have,” he growled, abandoning his phone to waggle his eyebrows suggestively as he danced his fingertips up the inside of her thigh. She giggled and he flopped back onto the pillows beside her. “But that doesn’t mean you have to go to the weddings alone,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

She rolled onto her side and stared at him. “What, like, as my date?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Everyone knows we’re not together and no one knows we’re sleeping together. They’ll just assume it’s a friend thing. Which is exactly what it would be. No big deal.”

“Huh.” Emma considered this. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“My ideas never are,” he smirked. 

She poked him in the ribs, almost as a reflex. He feigned grave injury with a heartrending groan but she was too busy thinking to laugh at his antics. “If I went with you I might actually almost enjoy myself,” she reflected aloud. “But are you sure _you_ wouldn’t mind?”

He rolled over on his side to face her. “Why would I mind?”

“Well, you wouldn’t be able to… you know…” She attempted to imitate his eyebrow waggle. “Sleep with bridesmaids, or whatever.”

He snorted. “That’s truly appalling, Swan, never do that again. And I have no desire to _you know_ with bridesmaids or anyone else. Our dalliance is more than enough for me right now.”

Emma couldn’t hold back her smile. “For me too,” she said softly.

Killian smiled in return and she watched it dimple his cheeks and crinkle the corners of his eyes as the silence stretched out warm and languorous between them. Then he blinked and cleared his throat. “Well, that’s settled then,” he said. “How many weddings have we got?”

“Six.”

“Bloody hell.” He sat up and grabbed the pile of invitations. “Are you sure it’s that many?”

Emma sat up too, taking the invitations from him and sifting through them. “Mary Margaret and David, Ruby and Mulan, Liam and Belle, Anna and Kristoff, Regina and Robin, August and Graham,” she enumerated. “That’s six.”

“Ugh.” Killian rubbed his temples. “And are you sure we have to go to all of them?”

“You’re the one who just said we did!”

“Aye, I know but— _every_ one?”

“David’s my brother and you’re his best man,” said Emma, counting off this time on her fingers. “ _And_ I’m MM’s bridesmaid. That one’s non-negotiable.”

“Aye, agreed.”

“Liam’s _your_ brother, marrying one of your best friends, and you’re also _his_ best man,” Emma continued, “as well as Robin’s. Robin who is your oldest friend and who also happens to be marrying my boss. I do _not_ want to deal with the fallout from Regina if I don’t go to her wedding. Do you?”

Killian gave a little shudder. “I definitely don’t. Okay, so Liam’s and Robin’s weddings are also non-negotiable. But do we have to go to Anna’s? I barely know her and Kristoff I don’t think I’ve met.”

“Hmm, probably not. But Elsa was like a sister to me growing up and Anna has somehow roped me into being a bridesmaid.”

“You’re a bridesmaid _again_?”

“Says the three-time best man!”

“Okay, fair. Anna’s we go to. Hmm—” he sifted through the pile and pounced on one. “We could give Ruby’s a miss. College roommate isn’t that close a friendship.”

“It is for us,” said Emma firmly. “And the only reason I’m not also Ruby’s bridesmaid is because she’s decided not to have any.” 

“August’s then,” said Killian pleadingly. “Surely we don’t have to go to his.”

“But he’s _your_ college roommate.”

“Aye, precisely. As I said it’s not _that_ close a friendship, particularly with August. I always hated that smug git. And for fuck’s sake, Swan, he’s marrying your ex.”

“I know,” sighed Emma. “But I like Graham though, and so do you.”

“I do, poor bastard,” Killian agreed, shaking his head. “He has no idea what he’s getting into there.”

“I think he does, Killian. They’ve been living together for three years and just because _you_ hate the way August loads a dishwasher—”

“He puts the cups on the bottom, Swan!”

“—that doesn’t mean Graham does. We have to go to their wedding.”

“Damn it.” He scowled so darkly at the pile of cards that Emma was surprised they didn’t go up in flames. “I guess that’s six weddings for us, then.”

“I guess it is.”

“Ah, well.” Killian tossed the invitations on the floor and rolled over onto Emma, nuzzling her neck as she giggled into a sigh. “At least they’re all open bar.”

~

Emma still wasn’t quite sure how their ‘dalliance,’ as Killian put it, had even started. She’d spent a long time sort of low-key hating him before they’d even met, what with David going on and on and _on_ about his new friend from England who lived in his dorm but got stuck rooming with August, and who he’d thought was kind of a dick at first until they got to know each other. Emma grew thoroughly sick of hearing about Killian this and Killian that, every single time she talked to her brother. Killian was teaching him how to play soccer. Killian could down a pint of beer in less than a minute. Killian was sleeping a swath through the university’s female population and even though David was perfectly happy in his relationship with Mary Margaret, he couldn’t help but admire the man’s game. You know?

Emma didn’t know, and she’d refused to find out.

It likely wouldn’t have been so bad had she been at college with them as she should have been. She should have started that very year—two years behind David—but thanks to an impromptu and in hindsight ill-advised summer road trip with her high school crush Neal Cassidy that left her stranded and pregnant in Utah of all places (David had to take a week off from his summer job to go pick her up), instead of starting her freshman year she’d been stuck at home with swollen ankles while David lived it up with his new man-crush.

When Emma, still raw from having her baby and giving him away (she knew it was for the best but that didn’t make it hurt less), finally met Killian that long-held resentment hadn’t diminished. If anything it grew, from the moment she shook his hand, filling her chest with bitterness. The single hottest guy she’d ever laid eyes on and clearly interested in her (Killian was still less than subtle in showing his interest but back then it had been almost too much) and if she hadn’t literally _just_ made it through an unwanted pregnancy Emma would have jumped at the chance. Jumped _him_. But she couldn’t risk another fuckboy, another heartache, and so when he asked her out she’d snarled at him and told him to fuck off, and he, damn him, had simply replied “As you wish, love,” with a look in his eyes that said he understood, despite her rudeness.

Soon after that he’d gone back to England and met Milah—the married woman who’d ultimately refused to leave her husband and broken his heart—while Emma had dated Graham for nearly a year before he shocked them all by coming out, and followed that up with Walsh who cheated on her and Neal who showed up from out of nowhere and tried to hook up again (she’d punched him in the nose, before David had the chance to) and so by the time Killian returned to the States with his brother and best friend in tow, to start up a new branch of their shipping business, neither he nor Emma were very keen on the idea of relationships.

They were keen on the idea of each other, though.

At David’s suggestion Killian moved in to the empty apartment across the hall from hers, and it wasn’t long at all before they found themselves together on a lonely Saturday night, slightly drunk and kissing frantically on his new sofa, scratching an itch that was by then more than six years old. A mistake, Emma tried to tell herself the next day, but one she’d kept making again and again and running after each time, until finally Killian made her sit down and lay their cards on the table.

“I don’t want to date,” she’d said decisively. “Not you, not anyone.”

“Nor do I,” he’d agreed. “That’s a given. The question is, do you want to fuck?”

She met his bluntness with her own. “Yes.”

“Well then. ‘Friends with benefits,’ as I believe the kids are calling it. How does that sound?”

“So… just sex, no strings?”

“Just sex, no strings.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I think I can do that.”

Killian quirked an eyebrow in that suggestive smirk that made her want to both kiss and slap him. “Oh, you can definitely _do_ it, Swan,” he purred. 

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you are the actual worst. Do friends with benefits get to have rules? Because my rule is no bad innuendoes.”

The smirk fell away and he laughed. “What about good innuendoes, then, love?”

“I don’t know.” She raised her own eyebrow at him, or at least gave it her best shot. “Make a good innuendo and then we’ll see.”

~

That had been more than a year ago, and Emma had to admit that whatever it was she and Killian had, it was working for her. They got along amazingly well, sharing similar taste in movies and music and TV but still with enough differences to keep things interesting. Though both were solitary people by nature, they found to their surprise that hanging out with each other, talking, sometimes bickering, sometimes silent, turned out to be almost as enjoyable as the sex.

 _Almost_. If their compatibility out of bed was amazing, in it they were nothing shy of phenomenal. Sex with Killian was like nothing Emma had ever experienced before, hot enough to make her lose her mind but comfortable enough that she found herself allowing intimacies she’d never be able to conceive of with anyone else. And though he never said as much she was certain that it was the same for him.

Beyond that she enjoyed the secret they shared, the subterfuge of it, and how easy it was to just enjoy this thing between them without the pressure of expectations or trying to put a label on it, without interference from their friends and family. She and Killian could leave gatherings together and no one thought anything of it; they were neighbours after all, it just made sense. And if after a few months of their arrangement they were spending nearly every night together and a good portion of their days too, well, that was no one’s business but theirs.

___


	2. Wedding One: Mary Margaret and David

“Husband and wife!” proclaimed Lance, with all the booming authority of a man ordained by the internet in order to speak those very words. The small chapel rang with applause as David pulled Mary Margaret into a kiss, sweeping her up and dipping her back so smoothly that the spectators gasped. All but Killian, who knew how much practice David had put into perfecting that particular move.

The practice had paid off, though, he had to admit. David executed the dip with such aplomb that Mary Margaret had stars in her eyes when he swung her up again, placing her hand over her heart and giving a breathless laugh as wolf whistles sounded from the crowd. Even Emma looked impressed.

She looked beautiful. He let his eyes rest on her for a moment, while her attention was distracted by the newly-married couple. Her hair was woven into one of those intricate up-dos that he knew she hated, but that left her neck tantalisingly bare and made his fingers itch to unravel it. Her shoulders were bare as well, a smooth expanse of skin covered only by the slim straps of the bridesmaid’s dress she also enthusiastically disliked. Too flowy, she’d complained, and the wrong shade of pink, but to Killian’s eyes it brought a warm glow to her skin and caressed her slender form in ways that had him shifting uncomfortably as he’d watched her walking up the aisle.

The fact that he was intimately acquainted with everything that lay beneath the dress did nothing to detract from the beauty of it or of her while wearing it, nor did it prevent the sharp flare of lust he felt pretty much every time he looked at her, no matter what she wore. She was just as appealing to him curled on the sofa in her ratty college sweatshirt with Cheeto dust on her chin as she was made-up and elegant in her brother’s wedding party. Possibly more appealing.

He had a sneaking feeling that this should trouble him—the way he just wanted her all the time, wanted to be with her whether they had sex or not, but Killian couldn’t be bothered to examine it. He’d spent so much of his time with Milah overthinking and analysing her every word and gesture, parsing them for hidden meaning, and he’d be damned if he fell into that trap again. Things with Emma were easy, simple and straightforward and comfortable, and all he wanted was to enjoy it, and her, for as long as their arrangement might last.

Mary Margaret and David began their recessional walk and Emma turned to him, rolling her eyes when she realised he was watching her. He gave her an exaggerated wink, knowing she wouldn’t be able to help laughing at the way he never could quite manage to close only one eye at a time. She proved him right, snorting a laugh as she accepted his arm and they walked together back down the aisle.

“Well, Swan, that’s it. Your brother is wed,” he said, as they emerged from the chapel and into the bright afternoon sunlight.

“Yeah.” Her eyes were suspiciously damp and she gave a sniff that she probably thought was subtle. “I guess he is.”

“It’s okay to be emotional about it, you know,” Killian murmured, low for her ears only. “It’s a big deal.”

She shot him a sideways glare that held no heat. “I know. And I’m _not_ crying. I’m just—happy he’s happy.” Her voice cracked and she blinked hard but a tear escaped the corner of her eye despite her efforts and trailed down her cheek.

He smiled softly as he brushed it away. “I know love,” he replied. “Me too.”

~

The reception was held in the backyard of Mary Margaret’s family home, a large, elegant old house near the water that had intimidated Emma the first time she went there. It was a beautiful day, sunny but with a cool breeze off the sea, as perfect as if Mary Margaret had ordered it custom-made.

It wouldn’t really surprise Emma if she had. Mary Margaret was the sort of woman for whom life just worked out, and a small, nasty part of Emma wished she could hate her new sister-in-law ( _sister-in-law_ , holy fuck) for that. But Mary Margaret was also one of the most genuinely kind and sweet people you could ever hope to meet. It was impossible not to like her, and she herself liked basically everyone.

Which is why Emma found her mouth hanging open in astonishment later that afternoon when she was sitting at her table watching people whirl on the dance floor and Mary Margaret plopped down in the seat next to her, shoes dangling from her fingertips and eyes slightly glazed, and demanded “Where’s th’ man-whore?”

“The what now?” laughed Emma. 

Mary Margaret blinked at her. “Man. Whore.” she enunciated. “The—y’know.” She gestured effusively if vaguely with her hand. “The goo’lookin’ one who thin’s erryone wants t’ fuck ‘im.” She frowned thoughtfully. “‘Course, erryone does wan’ t’ fuck’im, though, so… fair, I s’pose.”

Emma stared at her. “Are you talking about Killian?”

“Right!” Mary Margaret slapped the table with the palm of her hand. “Killian. Tha’s th’one. Where izze? David wan’s to say goo’bye.”

“Um, Killian went to find David about five minutes ago. Are—are you all right, Mary Margaret?”

“Wha? ‘Mfine.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“I only ‘ad champagne. One glass. Two, mebbe. Mebbe—” she attempted to count on her fingers “—mebbe five.”

“ _Five?_ ”

“Iz really good.”

“It is, but—”

“Bubbly, y’know. Many bubbles.”

“—but you should maybe have stopped at two,” said Emma, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her face straight. “You know what a lightweight you are.”

“ _Yer_ a light mate,” slurred Mary Margaret.

“And I bet you haven’t eaten anything either, have you?” Emma retorted.

Mary Margaret made another sweeping gesture. “In _thiz_ dress?”

“Here.” Emma grabbed a pitcher and refilled her water glass, then set it firmly in front of her sister-in-law. “Drink this.”

She watched as Mary Margaret carefully picked up the glass and manoeuvred it to her mouth, managing to drink most of it without spilling. When it was mostly empty Emma took it back with a small sigh of relief. Mary Margaret’s eyes seemed more focused, and when Emma offered her a piece of bread she accepted it gratefully.

“So, um,” ventured Emma, with a poor attempt at a casual tone. “What did you mean before? About Killian being a man whore?”

“Oh.” Mary Margaret looked slightly embarrassed. “Tha’s just wha’ I used to call ‘im. In college. No’ very pol—politically correct, I know, but it fit. Never really unnerstood wha’ David saw in ‘im. ‘E was kin’ of a dick, back then.”

“Hmm,” said Emma, resisting the urge to scowl. “Right.” 

It wasn’t that she disagreed exactly. She’d had the same low opinion of Killian in those days, and by his own admission he’d spent most of his year abroad screwing anything with a pulse. But still, she didn’t like hearing that kind of criticism from Mary Margaret, and she had to bite her tongue not to leap to Killian’s defence.

“‘E’s all ri’ now, I s’pose,” Mary Margaret continued, polishing off her bread and starting on another slice. “Since ‘e moved back ‘ere, I mean. Quieter. Less of a fuckboy. Tha’ Milah muss’ve done a real number on ‘im.”

“She did,” said Emma quietly, thankful that Mary Margaret likely wouldn’t remember this conversation tomorrow. “She broke his heart.”

“A’ leas’ ‘e’s gotta heart,” said Mary Margaret. “Didn’ think ‘e did, once.”

Emma nearly laughed. Arrogant Killian may be, and a womaniser, and obnoxiously outspoken on certain subjects, but heartless he absolutely was not. He was _all_ heart, a big, soft, squishy one that cared so deeply about so many things, and the damage Milah had done to it was in her opinion downright criminal.

She wanted to say this to Mary Margaret, tell her all about what lay beneath Killian’s cocky exterior, but her sister-in-law’s next words floored her.

“David thin’s ‘e’s in love again,” she said. “Thin’s ‘e’s got some woman ‘e’s keepin’ a secret. Hey!” She looked up at Emma, pointing a wobbly finger in her face. “You live nex’ door to ‘im!”

Emma swallowed. A hard lump had formed in her chest and she had to force the words past it. “Across the hall, but yeah,” she said. 

“You mi’ know then. Duzze ‘ave a secret loverrrr?” She rolled her ‘r’ impressively well for someone so wasted.

“How would I know that?” croaked Emma.

“I dunno, maybe you saw ‘er. Or heard’er. Heard them—oooh! ‘Ave you? Like through the walls or—”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mary Margaret, but to my knowledge Killian is happily single,” Emma interrupted. She had to force herself not to snarl. 

“Huh. David muss be wrong, then,” Mary Margaret concluded, then giggled. “‘E won’ like that.”

“Speaking of David,” said Emma, spotting her brother coming their way, followed closely by Killian. “Here he is.” Killian smiled when he saw her and her heart gave a strange lurch. She looked away. 

“‘Ere ‘e is!” cried Mary Margaret, holding out her arms. “Th’ love of my life.”

David shot Emma a look of alarm as Mary Margaret teetered to her feet and flung herself at him. “How much has she had to drink?” he demanded.

“Five glasses of champagne, she said,” Emma replied. “I got her to drink some water and eat a bit of bread but it’s probably not enough to soak it all up.”

“Son of a bitch,” David muttered under his breath as his beloved attempted to plant a sloppy kiss on his neck. From the corner of her eye Emma could see Killian stifling a laugh.

“Help me get her upstairs.” David’s plea was to both of them. “There’s a car coming in twenty minutes to take us to the hotel.”

Emma peeled one of Mary Margaret’s arms from around David and looped it over her own shoulders. “Why did you get a hotel, anyway?” she asked as they carefully manoeuvred MM towards the house, with Killian walking ahead to clear their path. “Couldn’t you just stay here tonight?” 

“Our flight’s at some ungodly early time tomorrow and she wanted to stay someplace closer to the airport,” David explained. “It seemed like a sensible idea. I sure as hell didn’t expect her to get wasted at her own reception.”

“What better time or place, mate?” piped up Killian, holding the door open for them with a smirk.

“Yeah, I don’t need to hear your thoughts on marriage right now, Jones,” retorted David. “Or ever.”

“Hey, just saying.”

Between the three of them they managed to get Mary Margaret upstairs to her bedroom, where David and Emma helped her change out of her wedding dress and into pajama pants and a t-shirt. At her insistence.

“But,” David protested, holding out a pretty floral dress in supplication. “You wanted to wear this to go to the hotel. You reminded me about it _three times_. People will be taking pictures, you said. It’s for posterity, you said.”

“Jammies,” insisted Mary Margaret, pushing the dress away.

“But—”

“David, let her wear what she likes,” said Emma. “The car will be here any minute.” 

“But the pictures—”

“Will be classics. Unique. You’ll tell the story to your grandkids.”

“Maybe you should wear ‘jammies’ too, mate,” called Killian from the hallway. “Then it will look deliberate.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” said David. “Let me just—oh _fuck_.”

“What?” Emma gaped at his language.

“I don’t have any.”

“Any what?”

“Pajamas.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I didn’t pack any, okay!”

“You didn’t pack any _pajamas_? For your _honeymoon_?”

David gave her a Look. “No,” he said flatly. “I didn’t.”

“Oh my _God,_ ” Emma moaned as the penny dropped, clapping her hand over her eyes as harsh wheezing noises sounded from the hallway. “I _really_ did not need to know that.”

“I have some you can borrow,” said Killian, his voice thick with repressed laughter. “Might be a bit tight on you, but—”

“I’ll take them,” said David.

Fifteen minutes later the newlyweds boarded the waiting limo, dressed in pajamas and snuggling into each other adorably as cameras flashed. And if anyone noticed that Mary Margaret’s eyes were glazed and that she seemed unable to stand upright without her husband’s support, or that David’s pajamas appeared to be a size too small, they were tactful enough not to remark on it.

“Well, that’s that, then,” said Killian, as the car’s taillights disappeared into the soft blue twilight. He turned to Emma with another smile that had her heart lurching. “I don’t know about you, Swan, but I am in the mood to get thoroughly pissed, dance like no one’s watching, then have gloriously messy sex as the sun comes up. What do you say to that, love?”

She returned his smile brightly, despite the ache in her chest. Whatever David’s reasons might be for thinking Killian was in love with someone, for the moment at least they didn’t matter. He was here, with _her_ , and that was all she would allow herself to care about.

“Sounds like something you can’t do by yourself,” she purred. 

“Well, I _could_ but it’d be a hell of a lot more fun if you were there too.”

She laughed and grabbed him by the tie. “Let’s go find some alcohol,” she said.


	3. Wedding Two: Ruby and Mulan

Killian awoke with the sun in his eyes and his nose in Emma’s hair. She was tucked against him, her back to his front, her face nestled into the arm he had wrapped around her. Instinctively he tightened that arm, cuddling her closer and burying his nose in her neck, breathing in the smell of her skin. She shifted and muttered then sighed as she slowly came awake—he knew she was fully conscious when she wiggled her bum against him then hummed contentedly as he began to harden in response.

They really should get up as soon as possible. The drive up the coast to Ruby and Mulan’s wedding would take at least three hours and they needed to get ready. It wouldn’t do at all to allow themselves to get distracted… but sod it, he thought, as she pressed her arse more insistently into his hips. Emma was so warm and so bloody soft when she was sleepy and her hair smelled so good, and he just really, _really_ loved morning sex.

Before their arrangement began, Killian had been accustomed to waking up alone. His time with Milah had always been short, dictated by her need to get home before her husband discovered her absence; despite how he’d begged her to stand up for herself, to stay, to choose him, she’d always run off as soon as possible, leaving him alone in his tangled sheets with nothing but a feeling of hollow frustration and despair that he’d attempted to stifle by telling himself he was better off alone. The brief flings and one-night stands he’d engaged in before Milah and since her he’d always made it a point to get rid of before he fell asleep. The last thing he wanted to be dealing with was an awkward morning after—coming face-to-face with his mistakes in the broad and sober daylight wasn’t something even his robust ego could handle.

The first time he’d woken up with Emma had come as a shock. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep in her bed, though leaving it to go back to his own had been growing increasingly difficult the longer their dalliance lasted. Waking to bright dawn light and himself still in bed with her had given him such a start he’d actually jumped, jostling her awake with the movement. Killian had held his breath as she turned in his arms—had he really spent the whole night holding her?—unsure of her reaction to finding him still there.

“Morning,” she’d murmured sleepily, nuzzling her face into his neck. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine love, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You didn’t go home last night.”

“No, I—” He scrambled for an explanation but came up empty. “I don’t know why.”

“It’s okay.” She let her fingers trail down his chest and over his cock, semi-hard already and stirring to vigorous life beneath her touch. “I’ve woken up to worse things.”

He chuckled as his tension drained away. “Damning with faint praise, there, Swan,” he murmured.

“Mmm.” Her fingers closed around him, making him gasp. “If you want more you’ll have to earn it.”

He’d growled and rolled her onto her back, and together they had discovered just how enjoyable early-morning sex can be.

And now he was damn near addicted to it, Killian thought. He refused to consider that perhaps it wasn’t the sex he was addicted to, or how he barely even noticed other women anymore. _Just enjoy it,_ he reminded himself, whenever such thoughts threatened the fragile equilibrium of himself and Emma. _For as long as it may last._

Mentally bidding farewell to the early start he’d planned, he let his hand trail teasingly down her side, a feather-light caress of waist and hip, fingertips just brushing over her mound. She whimpered in protest and ground her arse against him, lifting her leg to hook it behind his knee. He gave a low chuckle and continued to tease her with soft touches, over her breasts and belly, down the inside of her thigh and up again, dancing just along the edge of her patch of dark-gold curls until she dug her fingernails into his arm and whined “ _Killian!_ ”

“As you wish, love,” he murmured and slid his hand between her legs, stroking through the slick, silken folds of her sex. He loved touching her like this, drawing hoarse moans from her lips as she writhed helplessly against him, coating his fingers in the evidence of her arousal and feeling that flutter of pride he still got, knowing that it was _his_ touch that made it flow so freely.

She was gasping and rolling her hips, clutching his arm like a lifeline, the morning sunlight gilding her skin and hair as her head fell back onto his shoulder. He trailed soft kisses up her neck, fingers finding her clit and pressing gently, rubbing in rhythmic circles that soon had her moaning in the familiar pitch and cadence that told him she was nearly there.

The need to be inside her when she came rose up to grip him, overwhelmed him, and he pulled his hand away. “ _No_ ,” she whimpered, reaching for him, but then he lined himself up and slid inside her and she sighed. “Make that _yes._ ”

He chuckled as they began to move together in the easy rhythm of considerable practice and began to stroke her clit again. He was close already—touching her alone brought him more than halfway there—and he knew she was too. He could hear it in the catch in her breath and feel it in the tension in her body. Never before had he been so attuned to his partner during sex—another thing he didn’t care to reflect upon too closely—and he knew even without consciously thinking about it that Emma was the same. She could always tell when he was near to coming, always knew the exact right moment to shift the angle of her hips or drag her teeth along his cock, or clench it tightly with her inner muscles as she did now. He moaned and ground himself into her, fingers pressing harder, feeling her quiver as she she began to come and following right behind her with one final thrust, sighing his pleasure through the fine hairs at her temple.

 _God_ , he loved morning sex.

Emma went limp in his arms, still buzzing from her orgasm but boneless in that way he knew meant she was _thoroughly_ sated. She rubbed her face against his shoulder. “Don’t wanna get up,” she grumbled.

He didn’t either. He’d far rather stay here in her bed and while away the day with sex and snuggling and those random snatches of conversation that came so naturally and comfortably to them. Perhaps he might read a bit while she scrolled through Instagram and entertained him with her sharp-eyed commentary on the photos, then later they could make dinner together and watch a movie curled up on the sofa.

But as pleasant as that prospect sounded and despite her protests, he knew that Emma really did want to go to Ruby’s wedding. Which meant that instead of cuddling her to his chest and going back to sleep he would have to rustle her out of bed and into her shower, then go home to shower himself and put on a suit and tie and drive three hours to watch two people he barely knew voluntarily take on a legal commitment he didn’t believe in.

He sighed. “Too bad, Swan,” he said, as cheerily as he could manage. “We’ve loads to do today and we’re already running late.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “As long as you don’t say up and—”

“Up and at ‘em!” he declared, giving her arse a playful slap.

She elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to make him grunt, but there was a smile on her face when she rolled out of bed.

“I’ll need a good hour and a half to get ready,” she informed him as she grabbed her bathrobe. “I have to curl my hair and do my makeup so it doesn’t melt in the car.”

“That’s fine. If we can be on our way by ten we should make it in plenty of time. I’ll go get ready myself then grab us some coffee for the road.” He got out of bed and began to gather his clothes from the floor. Before he had a chance put them on he felt Emma’s arm snake around his waist, and when he looked down at her she had a mischievous grin on her face.

“Wha—” he began, but she cut him off with a kiss, a deep, wet one that sizzled through his blood. He reached for her to pull her close, to drag her back to bed and keep her there forever, but she slipped from his arms and danced away, heading for her bathroom.

“Don’t forget the bear claws,” she called out as the door shut behind her.

~

So far as weddings went, Killian had to admit that this was a good one—very nearly worth the time and effort of attending it. The brides were beautiful, Ruby radiant in slinky ivory silk and Mulan elegant in traditional Chinese wedding costume. The ceremony took place on a quiet stretch of beach with rocky cliffs rising up in the distance and waves lapping gently behind them as they spoke their vows.

A buffet and a bonfire made up the reception, with a live band and a makeshift dance floor, and gloriously free-flowing alcohol. Emma and Killian reclined on a rock, sharing a plate of bao buns with a variety of fillings as they watched the newlyweds dance.

“You know,” mused Emma, “if I ever got married, I’d want my wedding to be something like this.”

Killian’s heart gave a funny sort of stumbling thump. “On a beach, you mean?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

She shook her head. “No, not necessarily. I meant small and relaxed the way this is. Not stiflingly formal like Mary Margaret and David’s. Just like, a party for my friends and family.”

“Mmm,” Killian replied, stubbornly refusing to entertain the images that tried to invade his brain—images of Emma in a long white gown, her hair loose and teased by a gentle breeze off the sea as she walked along the beach towards where he stood surrounded by everyone they loved, the happy smile on her face as she took his hand—“I thought you hated weddings,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended.

“I do—”

“A waste of money and flowers, I believe you said. Why have a messy divorce when you can have a clean breakup, you said.”

She stared at him. “What is wrong with you?”

He sighed and gave himself a mental shake. “Sorry, love, you just threw me a bit. I apologise, it’s none of my business.”

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “You _know_ I’ve got zero intention of getting married, right Killian?” He managed a nod and she attempted a smile. “I still haven’t met that one special person I can see myself someday acrimoniously divorcing,” she joked.

There went that funny thump of his heart again. “Right,” he said. “Of course not.”

“Though sometimes I think—” She broke off with a little shake of her head.

Killian’s throat felt full of gravel. “What do you think, love?” he rasped.

“Nothing. It’s dumb.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.” He realised his hand was still in hers, his thumb stroking across her knuckles. “Tell me.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, sometimes I just think that maybe it might not be so bad to—you know, to _have_ someone. Someone who’s in your life because they choose to be there, and you know they’ll always be there whenever you need them.”

“Always until the divorce you mean.” He meant the remark to be light-hearted, a joking reference to her earlier quip, but it landed with a thud and her face fell along with it.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she muttered. 

“It’s still fifty percent of marriages that fail, Swan,” he pointed out, when the heavy silence between them began to feel awkward. “More even, I think.”

Silence between them was never awkward, it was one of his favourite things about being with her, and the awkwardness of this silence filled him with an almost desperate unease.

“I know you’re right, but—”

“I mean,” he continued, releasing her hand and sitting straighter as he warmed to his subject. “Milah was married—is still married, as far as I know—and it’s done nothing but make her miserable. Destroyed all her dreams for her future, left her bored and unfulfilled. Trapped.”

“Hmmm,” said Emma.

He frowned at her. “What does that mean?”

“Well—” She shrugged again. “Milah did cheat on her husband.”

“So?”

“With _you_.”

“I am well aware of that, Swan. What’s your point?”

“Just that maybe she didn’t try _quite_ as hard to be happily married as she could have. If she even is that unhappy.”

“And just what the bloody hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” he snapped.

She met his gaze calmly. “She kept you in limbo for more than two years, Killian. Always promising she’d leave her husband but never quite pulling that trigger, and in the meantime enjoying all the benefits of an affair with a hot younger guy who was crazy in love with her, without any consequences. Fucking you and then going home to him and living the life he made possible.”

Killian clenched his fists. She was right, and he _knew_ she was, but it was still hard for him to hear. Hard for him to admit how he’d let himself be used. “She doesn’t love him,” he ground out. “He’s a—”

“Beastly corporate crocodile, yes, I know,” Emma finished. “Still. She stayed with him, didn’t she.”

“Aye.”

“Did you never think that there might be a good reason for that?”

He scowled, and made no response.

“And Mary Margaret and David are disgustingly happy,” Emma continued. “Even more so now that they’re married. They’ll probably still be disgustingly happy fifty years from now.”

“Probably,” he grudgingly agreed. David hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d returned from his honeymoon, and it was hard even for Killian to hold on to cynicism in the face of two people so obviously meant for each other. 

“I guess maybe I just I don’t hate the idea of _being_ married, that’s all,” said Emma. “If you’re married to someone who makes you happy and willing to put some effort into staying that way. I hate all the—the trappings of weddings, the peer pressure and the wedding industrial complex that demands we spend a year’s salary on a huge event where half the guests we don’t know and the other half we’re too busy to enjoy the company of. But if I could have a cosy little wedding like this one, with the people I love, and marrying the right person…” She shrugged again. “Maybe I wouldn’t hate it, is all.”

___


	4. Wedding Three: Anna and Kristoff

“Come on, Swan!” Killian called. “Let’s have a look.”

“Ugh.”

He didn’t bother to hide his grin. It wasn’t like she could see him, nor would she ever if she didn’t come out of the bathroom. “It can’t be that bad,” he said. 

“It definitely can.”

“Well, love, you’re going to have to come out sooner or later, the wedding’s this afternoon,” he pointed out.

“How much money do you think I’d need to bribe Anna to get her to cancel it?”

Killian thought back to the rehearsal dinner the night before, Anna’s bright enthusiasm and glow of happiness. “Well, you know her better than I, but from what I’ve seen, well more than either of us could afford,” he replied.

Emma sighed. “Yeah, probably.”

The bathroom door opened just enough for her to poke her head out. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

He smirked. “Absolutely not.”

“Damn it, Killian!” She glared at him, but couldn’t hold back a smile. He let the smirk fall away—its only aim was to get her to smile.

“Swan, it’s a bridesmaid dress, not the end of the world.” 

“You say that _now_ ,” she huffed. 

“Emma.” He approached the other side of the door she still held in front of her like a shield, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You know that you could never be less than stunning, no matter what you wore,” he said gently.

Her expression softened. “All right, I’m coming out. But if you laugh I will kick you in the nuts.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

The door opened the rest of the way and Emma stepped through it. She was dressed in—well, Killian wasn’t even sure what to call it. It certainly wasn’t what most people would consider a bridesmaid dress.

Emma wore a white shirt with long, ruffled sleeves and a high collar, covered by a sort of overdress similar to a pinafore, with thin straps and a tight bodice that flared out into an ankle-length skirt. The overdress was a pretty dark green colour that brought out her eyes, but that colour and even Emma herself were almost lost in all the embroidery. Embroidered patterns in half a dozen bright colours covered the bodice of the overdress, both front and back, and around the bottom of the skirt was an array of flowers at least a foot high.

Killian forced himself not to gape, kept his eyes blinking normally and his mouth firmly shut as he scrambled for something— _anything_ —to say that wouldn’t result in Emma doing serious damage to his soft tissues.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Emma moaned. “I can tell from your face.”

“It’s… memorable,” he replied.

“Is that British for awful?”

It kind of was, but he hastened to reassure her. “No, love, it’s not awful,” he soothed. “It’s just—well, it’s definitely a _look_.”

Emma clapped her hand over her eyes. “I cannot _believe_ I have to go out in public like this.”

He gave in to the urge to comfort her, pulling her into a hug and stroking her hair. “It’s a wedding, darling, all eyes will be on the bride. Perhaps the only conceivable occasion when you’re in a room and everyone is looking at another woman.”

She snorted a laugh and snuggled into his arms. “How do you always say just the right thing?” she murmured. “Every time.”

Before he could reply a knock sounded at the door and Emma gave a little start, pulling out of his embrace.

“Emma?” It was Elsa’s voice. “You nearly ready?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” Emma replied.

She turned to the mirror and adjusted her ruffles, then fluffed her hair. Her eyes met his in their reflection and she offered one of her small smiles. “I guess I’ll see you after the ceremony.”

“Aye, love.” He nodded. “See you then.”

She returned his nod, grabbed her purse, and left the room.

~

Killian arrived early at the venue for the ceremony, a large church built of wood in a simple style, square and sturdy but for its elegantly tall, pointed steeple. It was painted bright white and surrounded by a well-kept garden in the front and a small graveyard at the back. 

Killian had always enjoyed old graveyards—he liked to look at the headstones and speculate about the people whose lives they commemorated—so he headed there for a quick stroll before the ceremony began. It turned out to be a fascinating place, the final resting place of some very interesting characters, and Killian was lost in his thoughts when he heard a voice call his name, and he turned to see Ruby waving at him.

“Hey,” he greeted her as she approached, carefully navigating along the uneven path in her sky-high shoes. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“That’s a nice way to greet me,” she laughed, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Sorry.” He grinned at her. “I just wasn’t aware you knew Anna. Or are you here for Kristoff?”

“Anna. Mulan’s friends with her,” Ruby explained. “Or sort of friends, anyway, and she isn't friendly with a lot of women so I like to encourage the ones she does like. She and Anna are sparring partners.”

“Sparring?” Killian’s eyebrows rose. “What, like with swords?”

“Yep. Cool huh?”

“Very.”

“So.” Ruby took his arm and they continued to stroll along the path. “Where’s Emma? You are here with Emma, right?”

“Aye, I am, but she’s with Anna right now. She’s one of the bridesmaids.”

“Really?” It was Ruby’s turn for surprised eyebrows. “Wasn’t she a bridesmaid at David’s wedding too?”

“Aye.”

“I’m surprised at her, I have to say. What’s that old saying? Three times a bridesmaid, never a bride? Good thing I decided not to have any, huh?”

“Certainly, though I don’t believe that not being a bride is something Emma’s too concerned about,” he remarked. 

“Yeah. She _thinks._ ”

He frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh come on,” scoffed Ruby. “You must know her pretty well by now, if you’re going to a near-stranger’s wedding with her. You know what she’s like.”

“I do, aye, but what specific aspects of her character are we talking about right now?”

Ruby stared at him like he was stupid. “Emma Swan,” she said slowly, “is one of the most loving people you could ever hope to meet. She has all this love inside her and more than anything she wants someone to give it to. Someone to _share_ it with, who will love her back just as hard. But she thinks she’ll never find that person and so she keeps her love all locked away. Every time she’s tried to share it before the person she chose rejected it, and left her hurt and alone. So now she guards it like a dragon with its hoard. She doesn’t trust her own judgement anymore.”

Killian swallowed hard. “Aye,” he croaked. “That’s true.”

“Whoever she ends up with will be a lucky man,” continued Ruby. “And she will end up with someone, that’s for certain. No way does that woman live the rest of her life alone, no matter what she may think now. Someone will see what she has to give and be smart enough to take it. It’s only a matter of time.”

Killian’s throat was too tight to speak but he forced a nod, and his best approximation of a smile. Ruby frowned at him but before she could speak she heard her own name called and they both turned to see Mulan hurrying down the path.

“Hey,” she said, kissing first her wife’s cheek then Killian’s. “I think they’re about to start, we should go sit down."

“Sure.” Ruby let go of his arm and took Mulan’s instead. “You coming, Killian?”

He cleared his throat. “Aye, lass, just—give me a moment?”

She smiled. “No problem. See you inside.”

~

The reception was held at the village hall of Anna and Elsa’s hometown, which was also of course Emma and David’s. He’d visited it once before, the summer after his year abroad, to spend a few final days with David before heading home to England. That near-fateful trip when he’d met Anna—and Emma—for the first time.

The house she and David had grown up in they sold after their mother’s death—neither one really wanted to live there and neither had been back to the town since her funeral. When Killian and Emma had arrived the day before she’d driven them slowly through the streets, her smile bittersweet.

“It’s so weird to be back,” she’d said. “It hasn’t changed at all, but it feels different.”

“You’re different,” he’d replied. “That affects how you see things. Even familiar ones.”

“Hmm.” Emma had given him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s probably it.”

It was a decent reception, thought Killian, observing it with the expert eye of a man who’s on his third wedding of the summer and still only halfway through. Decent food, decent music, speeches a good mix of funny and heartfelt. David and Mary Margaret were there—she still with the memory of her own reception keeping her cautious around the champagne—and of course Ruby and Mulan, the latter taking full advantage of the champagne Mary Margaret wasn’t drinking and insisting that everyone at their table give her at least one dance.

They were all dancing, Mulan and Emma, David and Mary Margaret, Ruby taking Kristoff for a spin while Anna danced with her father. Killian was alone at the table watching them when Elsa came to sit next to him.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Fine,” he replied. “What makes you ask, lass?”

“Emma told me about your wedding date pact.” She grinned at him. “Six in one summer is a lot.”

“Aye, that it is. But we’re halfway through now, and still alive.”

“That’s always good,” said Elsa, and they laughed together. “Emma certainly does seem happy,” she remarked once the mirth had passed, still smiling.

“Does she?”

“Well, yes. She’s laughed more today alone than I’ve seen her do in a long time. Certainly not since Nea—” She broke off with a sharp look at Killian, smile fading into apprehension.

“Since Neal left her,” he finished. "Aye."

“Oh,” she blinked in surprise. “You know about that?”

Killian nodded. Emma had whispered the whole tale to him one night as they lay curled together in bed, her fingers sifting through the hair on his chest and her tears dampening it as she spoke. He felt his hand clench into a fist, one he’d still dearly love to plant firmly in Neal Cassidy’s face. But more even than he wished to inflict violence on the man who’d hurt her, he wished he’d _known_ back then, all those years ago when they first met. If he’d known what she’d been through, what she was still suffering from at the time, he would never have come on so strong. He’d not have come on to her at all, most likely, would instead have kept a friendly distance and given her time to heal before approaching her. Shown a little more tact and consideration. Found some way to stay in this country until she was ready for what he’d wanted from the moment he saw her. _Gods_ if he’d only known, perhaps things might have turned out very differently. For both of them.

Elsa gave him a curious look and he realised his fist was still clenched, along with his jaw. Deliberately, he relaxed both and tried to smile.

“So how do you two actually know each other?” she asked. “Emma said you’re her neighbour?”

“Aye. I live across the hall from her. But we first met here in this town actually, years ago. That’s when I met Anna too, though you weren’t around—you were studying abroad, I think? So was I, in fact, that’s how I met David—in college.”

“Ohhh.” Elsa’s eyes widened. “You’re _that_ guy?”

“What guy?”

“Um.” She flushed. “Nothing, really, just I remember Emma mentioning you—David’s British friend from college she called him so it must have been you, but she was—um—”

“Not flattering in her description of me, I’d wager.”

“Well, no.” She winced apologetically, but he gave her a reassuring smile.

“It’s fine, lass. We didn’t get along at first, it’s true, but we’ve become good friends in the past year or so.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” said Elsa. “She could use a friend. I hate that we live so far away from each other these days. I feel like I can’t be there for her when she needs me anymore. I’m glad she’s got you.”

“Aye.”

“Now if we could just get her to start dating again,” Elsa continued. “It’s been long enough since Walsh that she should be ready to give it another try, but every time I bring up the subject she brushes me off.”

Killian resisted the urge to clench his fist again. “My impression is that she simply enjoys her solitude,” he said stiffly.

“Oh, for sure, and I get that. I’ve got no interest in a relationship myself. But that’s just who I am. It’s _not_ who Emma is. She badly wants to find someone, she just doesn’t believe it will ever happen.”

“Ruby said something similar to me earlier,” Killian replied. And he had almost, _almost_ managed to forget about it.

Elsa laughed. “Ruby and I have never been great friends but the one subject on which we completely agree is that Emma Swan Deserves Love.”

Killian watched Emma throw back her head in delighted laughter as Mulan twirled her in a complicated spin. “Aye,” he said gruffly. “I’d have to agree with that as well.”

Elsa’s mother waved at her and she said goodbye to Killian just as the song came to an end. Everyone returned to their table, flushed with exertion and alcohol and laughter. Emma plopped into the chair vacated by Elsa and let her head fall onto Killian’s shoulder.

“Good dance?” he asked her.

“Oh yeah. Mulan is a demon on the dance floor. Who knew?”

“She’s a woman of hidden talents, that’s for sure.”

Emma hummed in agreement and he felt her hand slide up his leg, fingers curling around his thigh, hidden beneath the table where no one could see. He clenched his jaw again, not from anger this time nor from the surge of lust her touch inspired but from an odd, vexed frustration. Normally, he enjoyed their hidden touches—the challenge of the game they played, slowly driving each other mad right under the noses of their friends, the anticipation of what they would do as soon as they were alone keeping them hot and on edge. But tonight it made Killian feel anything but playful; instead he felt hollow, with Ruby’s and Elsa’s words echoing relentlessly in his head.

 _Emma deserves love, and one day she’ll find it_.

Of course she would, Killian thought. She was too brilliant, too kind and brave and generous to spend her life alone. She would find herself someone she could love, someone she didn’t have to hide, and she would be happy. The sooner the better, really.

And when that day came, Killian vowed, when that unknown man appeared in her life, he would step aside and clear the bastard’s path without bitterness or recrimination. He wanted Emma to be happy, wanted that with a ferocity that astonished him. He wanted her to love, and to be loved by, someone whole and unscarred enough to do the job properly.

“Hey,” she murmured. “You okay?”

He looked down at her, still resting her head on his shoulder, her hand on his leg. Her eyes were hazy and her hair mussed, her careful makeup smudged by the heat and the long, busy day. She was beautiful. 

He forced his face to smile. “I’m fine, love. The real question here, I think, is how are _you?_ ”

She grinned. “I’m fine.”

“Ah. Well that’s good.”

“It is good.”

“Well, good.”

She laughed, and her grin took on a wicked edge. “Hey, she whispered. “Wanna go somewhere?”

“Where did you have in mind?”

“C’mon.”

She got carefully to her feet and reached for his hand. Killian looked around but no one was watching them, the others all caught up in their own conversations or off dancing again, or in the case of David starting to doze off at the table. He took Emma’s hand and together they slipped out of the hall and across the street to a park. It was a small park, about half of a city block, with a playground area at one end and a garden at the other, bright with flowers and bordered by a thick hedge.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“In here.”

Emma led him through the garden to the hedge at the far corner of it. The trees and bushes that formed it appeared solid but Emma slipped into an almost invisible gap in the dense foliage, his hand clasped tightly in hers as she wove through the branches until they emerged into a clearing.

Killian stared. The clearing was perhaps eight feet across, oval shaped, with a tiny brook running through it, bordered by mossy rocks and framed by the trees that arched overhead. Next to the brook was a low wooden bench, and to this Emma led Killian.

“Where are we?” he asked, sinking down onto it.

“This is the hidden garden,” she replied. “Not many people even know it’s here. But my mom helped design this park and she told me about it. It’s intended to be a source of luck, according to her. Anyone who stumbles on it by accident will be lucky for a year, and if someone brings you here on purpose—well, that’s five years’ good luck.”

She moved closer to where he sat on the bench, still standing, placing her hands on his shoulders as his settled on her hips.

“Well, love, who couldn’t use a bit of good luck?” he said.

Emma brushed the hair off his forehead in a familiar gesture that made his chest ache. “I used to dream about bringing someone here when I was a teenager,” she said softly, “but there was never anyone—well, never anyone I trusted enough with the secret.”

Killian’s heart thumped at this tacit admission though he willed himself not to read too much into it. “I’ll guard it well,” he said gruffly.

“I know you will.”

The bench was low to the ground and Emma tall in her heels, the dress she’d changed into for the reception short, with a loose, flirty skirt. He slid his hands up her bare thighs and around her ass, encouraging her closer still until she was standing between his knees, close enough that he could lean his forehead against her belly. 

Her fingers tangled in his hair and she gave it a gentle tug. He looked up to find her watching him with an odd look.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine love. Are you fine?”

“Still fine.”

“Hmmm. And we’re alone here, would you say?”

“Very alone,” she confirmed, her voice soft as a purr. 

He hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and tugged them down, letting them fall to the ground at her feet, then lifted her skirt. The relative heights of her heels and the bench put him at eye level with her lower belly, and he only had to lean down a little to press a kiss to the patch of curls between her legs. It was damp already and he moaned as he leaned in closer to part it with his tongue, running the tip though her folds. She gave a little gasp—this particular act was one of their favourites but they were normally in bed when they did it and this angle of his tongue on her clit was new. He wrapped his arms around her and held tight, licking deeper as she clenched her fists in his hair, her breathing coming fast and hard. He couldn’t lick her as thoroughly as he liked at this angle so he concentrated on her clit, laving gently then sucking hard, not really aiming to make her come but just to draw out this moment of pleasure here in this very private public place.

She rewarded his efforts with all the noises he loved to hear from her, the little gasps and moans that told him she was thoroughly enjoying herself. He worked her up slowly, higher and higher until she was just on the edge, until she pushed him away and in one smooth move lifted her dress up and over her head.

It was his turn to gasp now, at her body pale and gorgeous in the moonlight, at the look in her eyes as she knelt on the bench to straddle him, her fingers working deftly at his trousers until his cock was free. She closed her fist around it as he unhooked her bra and tugged it off, kissing and nipping at her breasts as she sank down onto him. She pulled his face up for a kiss, a deep, frantic one, sloppy and wet and glorious, and then she began to move, her arms around his neck and his around her waist, pressed together with their foreheads touching, breathing each other’s breath as they fucked.

It was fucking, Killian told himself, it _was,_ though it felt like so much more. It felt like things he'd never imagined he would want again, like comfort and happiness, like a place that was home and someone to share it with. Someone to share his life with, so he didn’t have to be alone anymore. With a click like the turning of a key in his head he realised that whatever this was between him and Emma had grown beyond their original arrangement—for him at least—far more than a simple dalliance and yet not a relationship, and he had absolutely no idea what to do with that revelation. Only one thing he knew for certain: Killian was headed for heartbreak once again, inevitable as the tides, on that day when Emma finally found the man whom she could love.

It was precisely what he’d been so desperate to avoid, a position he swore he’d never put himself into again after Milah, and a part of him screamed that he should end it now, protect himself, _run_. But another part of him, the far stronger part, was lost in Emma’s heat and softness and how deeply he craved her, and though he recognised the irony of how even the strongest part of him was weak for her he knew that no matter what there was to come and how much it would surely hurt him, he wouldn’t be the one to end this. It was her call, had always been her call. He would stay with her for as long as she wished, and only hope he had the strength to walk away when she was done with him.

He ran his hand up her back and into her hair, pressing her forehead tighter against his as they rocked together, so deep at this angle and so intimate. Emma seemed in no hurry to come and neither was he—of all the many times they’d had sex, this felt different, special, with the trees close around them like an embrace and the soft sounds of the brook, and he was content to take his time, to enjoy this, and _her_ , here in this moment.

When at long last he came it almost took him by surprise—the tension built so slowly within him that he didn’t see the edge until he was tumbling over it, muffling his cry in the crook of Emma’s neck as she clenched and fluttered around him. She went limp in his arms and he cuddled her close, his hands gentle in her hair and his heart greedy for the bliss he always felt in her presence, sweeter and more poignant now he was aware of how soon it must end. 

He wished it didn’t feel as though he’d already lost her. 

_You can’t lose what you never had, Killian._

______


	5. Wedding Four: Liam and Belle

As Emma stepped through the front doors of the grand old Public Library, her jaw dropped. She’d imagined the place would be elegant—it certainly was from the outside—but she still hadn’t been fully prepared for beauty of the graceful columns and vaulted ceiling, the mosaic inlay on the floor and the tall wooden shelves filled with books. No wonder Belle had chosen to be married here, she thought. It was the perfect venue for a dedicated bibliophile. And of course, she was the city’s head librarian.

She dawdled through the stacks for as long as she thought she could get away with before making her way to the back of the main room, where rows of chairs were set up beneath a tall, arched window. Nerves were fluttering in her belly like a swarm of demented butterflies, and no matter how firmly she told herself that it was ridiculous to feel nervous about seeing Killian—her neighbour, her _friend_ , the man she’d been sleeping with for the past year—she was.

The last time she’d seen him was three days ago, not a long time by any means but by far the longest separation they’d had since their arrangement began. Killian had explained it was because he was busy with his duties as Liam’s best man, a perfectly reasonable explanation, but one he’d offered with a smile that crinkled his cheeks but did not even come close to reaching his eyes.

Killian liked to call her an open book, almost boasting of his ability to read her feelings, but if she was a book he was a fucking billboard. The man was hopeless at hiding his emotions—his eyes gave them all away, and after a year of spending almost every night and quite a good portion of her days with him Emma was an expert at deciphering what lay behind the eyes of Killian Jones.

Something was eating at him, something serious that he couldn’t get out of his head. Given his tendency to brood—and the man was a _champion_ brooder, seriously Olympic-standard brooding, dark scowl and hooded eyes, the whole works—it wasn’t particularly unusual to find him moping in corners or making emo playlists on his Spotify. What was unusual was that he wouldn’t talk to her about it.

She’d tried to pry whatever it was out of him, tried on more than one occasion. Tried calling, tried texting, tried knocking on his door. But every attempt she made he rebuffed, insisting he was _just fine, Swan_ and quickly changing the subject. It would have annoyed the hell out of her if it didn’t worry her so much. The brooding may be typical Killian behaviour, but the shutting her out was not. Not at _all_. Emma had racked her brains but the only possible explanation she could come up with for why Killian wouldn’t tell her what was bothering him was that _she_ was what was bothering him. And Emma had no idea why that might be.

After their night in the hidden garden—the most amazing experience of her life, hands down, one that had left her buzzing with exhilaration and other feelings she couldn’t quite put a name to—she’d thought that maybe, well… it was stupid, she tried to tell herself, but that night had felt so special and she’d truly thought it was the same for Killian. The way he’d touched her and held her, the intensity in his eyes—but he’d been withdrawn and silent on the drive home and as soon as they arrived had scratched behind his ear, refusing to meet her eyes as he muttered something about an early start and retreated into his apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.

The next day he’d appeared at her door bearing hot pizza and good wine, full of innuendo and acting like his old self again. Emma was relieved at first—until she noticed how brittle his smile seemed, and how hard his laughter. How there was distance between them, distance _he_ was putting there, though he was right there next to her with his lips on her neck and his hand on her thigh he had never felt so far away. His hands were warm but their touch felt cold, calculating in the way they moved across her skin.

“Killian—” She gave his shoulders a shove, then another, harder one until he looked at her. “What’s _wrong?_ ” she demanded.

 _If you lie to me, Killian Jones,_ she thought, _if you can be here naked in bed with me and tell me a lie we are_ done _, no matter how much I—_

His hand clenched on her hip and he dropped his forehead to rest against hers. “I can’t,” he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear. “I tried, but I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“What?” She frowned, curling her fingers into the hair at his nape. “What can’t you do?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a little shake. “Nothing, I just—I—” He opened his eyes again, and she’d never known blue could be so hot. “Emma, I—I— _fuck_.”

He kissed her then as he’d kissed her in the garden, soft and deep and sweet and hot, making her toes curl and her blood sizzle, his touch his own again— _her_ Killian touching her, pleasuring her with his hands and mouth and cock until she almost forgot how weird he’d been acting.

Almost.

That had been Tuesday and now it was Friday, three days during which she’d barely seen him, just a quick cup of coffee on Wednesday morning before he left, a muttered lame excuse about best man duties and a brief kiss on her cheek. And now, damn it, psychotic butterflies.

She spotted Mary Margaret and David already seated and went to take the chair they'd saved for her, smiling and laughing and making desultory chit-chat as though her heart weren’t pounding and her mouth dry. Soon the music began to play and Killian and Liam appeared, taking their places beneath the window, and despite how much of the past seventy-two hours Emma had spent thinking about Killian she had to take several deep breaths to calm herself before she was able to look up at him.

His eyes met hers at once, though he gave an odd little twitch of his head as if he too had been trying not to look. He seemed tired, she thought, and tense, and the smile he offered her was once again a stiff curve of his lips with no eyes involved. It pierced her heart like a dagger and she tore her eyes away, forced them to stay away for the rest of the ceremony.

Whatever was going on with him if he didn’t tell her, if he _wouldn’t_ tell her what it was, then—she blinked hard as tears began to prickle behind her eyes—well, she didn't know what she would do.

~

The reception was held in the park behind the library, an open, grassy space with a gazebo at its centre where the main tables were set up, with smaller tables scattered around it to accommodate all the guests. Emma snagged a glass of champagne and downed it in two gulps, exchanged the empty glass for a full one then repeated the process twice more before going off in search of Killian. They were going to talk, she decided, sit down and talk for real, and if Killian had a problem with her he was damned well going to tell her what it was.

There was no sign of him in the crowd but she spotted Liam and Belle in the gazebo, smiling and laughing as they greeted their guests.

“Emma!” cried Belle as she approached. “Thank you so much for coming!”

“Congratulations, you two,” Emma replied, flashing a champagne-assisted smile and hugging first her and then Liam. “It was a beautiful ceremony. I had no idea the library was that gorgeous!”

“Yeah,” Belle replied. “It makes going to work every day a bit easier, I won’t lie.”

“Mmhmm, I’ll bet.” Emma didn’t wish to be rude but she was a woman on a mission. “Um, do either of you by any chance know where Killian is?” she asked.

“No, I haven’t seen him since—” Liam broke off, his expression darkening, lip curling back in a feral snarl. “What the bloody _fuck_ does that bitch think she’s doing here?” he snapped.

“What?” Emma stared at him in alarm. “What bitch?” 

“Milah,” replied Belle, peering grimly over Emma’s shoulder while holding tight to Liam’s arm. “She’s just shown up.”

Emma felt like she’d been struck. “Killian’s Milah?” she gasped. “I mean his, um—”

“Aye,” growled Liam. “His _um_. It seems she’s decided to leave her husband at long last and come running back to Killian. Apparently she heard about the wedding from a mutual friend and had the almighty _cheek_ to show up this morning as we were getting ready, all effusive declarations of love and pleas for him to take her back. If he’s stupid enough to listen I’ll bloody well disown him.”

Emma’s stomach was roiling and she clutched it as she slowly turned, following the path of Liam and Belle’s eyes to where Killian stood beside a woman whose dark curls cascaded down her back, their faces close together and tension crackling almost visibly between them.

 _She’s beautiful_ , Emma thought hollowly. Tall and elegant with cheekbones that could be weaponised—no one could deny that she and Killian made stunning couple. As they watched, Killian gripped Milah’s arm and led her away, back into the library, his jaw clenched and his expression grim.

Emma feared she may be sick. All her worry and hurt and anger at his behaviour over the past week intensified, sinking claws of fear deep into her chest. Milah had broken Killian’s heart, broken _him_ , left him with scars that hadn’t ever fully healed. If she really had left her husband for him, the one thing he’d begged her to do for years—would he go back to her? Emma couldn’t suppress the horrible feeling that yes, he almost surely would.

She stumbled to her table and sat, staring off into the distance as her mind whirled. Food arrived but she couldn’t bear to eat or drink, couldn’t look at Mary Margaret and David, knowing their concern would break her. She watched as Liam marched purposefully into the library then returned ten minutes later, his face dark with anger, shaking his head when Belle tried to speak to him.

Killian did not appear until it was time for the best man’s speech, when he strode into the gazebo with the same brittle smile and manner that he’d had at her place last Tuesday, charmed the crowd with words that would seem sweetly heartfelt to anyone who didn’t _know_ him, then retreated again, back into the library without so much as a glance at Emma.

That was it, then, she thought, as her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. That was the sign. He couldn’t even look at her anymore—he’d been weird around her for days and now the woman he loved was here and it was _over_ between them, all over, and—and she needed to get the fuck out of here _now_ , before she broke down and cried with everyone watching.

She stood up so fast her legs hit the table—liquid sloshed out of all the glasses and her chair toppled over with a crash. Everyone turned to stare as she righted it, blushing bright pink and stuttering apologies as she grabbed her bag and turned, running blindly as tears began to blur her vision, away from the reception and the prying eyes and straight into Killian’s chest.

“Whoa, love,” he said, grabbing her shoulders to steady her. “You all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine, I—” she couldn’t look at him, she _couldn’t,_ couldn’t bear to have his hands on her. She jerked away. “I have to get out of here.”

“Aye, you and me both. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and she let him lead her away, too stunned for a moment to protest, but once she realised he was heading for the library again she wrenched her hand from his grip.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.

He looked startled, then apologetic. “Sorry, love, I should have asked before dragging you away, but you said you wanted to get out of there so I thought we could—”

“ _We_ ,” she choked, hating the bitterness in her voice. “There is no _we_. Not anymo—” she broke off and turned blindly again, stumbling in her haste to get away.

“Hey!” Killian cried, darting forward to catch her before she could fall. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight and just for a heartbeat she let him, sank her fingers into the fabric of his tuxedo jacket and breathed in his familiar scent, just a final moment of torture before she shoved him away.

“Get _off_ me!” she hissed.

“Emma!” He stared at her, hurt flaring in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you even doing here?” she sneered. “Shouldn’t you be with Milah?”

“Ah.” He scratched behind his ear. “Liam told you, then?”

Emma hissed in a breath. She felt raw and flayed open, desperate for escape. “Yeah, he did. So why don’t you _fuck_ off back to her and leave me _alone!_ ” She turned on her heel and tried to run again.

“Back to her? What? Wait, Emma, _wait!_ ” Killian grabbed her arm and held on this time, even as she tried to shake him off. “I thought Liam told you?”

“Told me _what?_ ”

“I’m not getting back with Milah.”

She stopped struggling and stared at him. “You’re not?” 

“ _No,_ ” he said forcefully. “Obviously I’m not.”

All the unwieldy tangle of emotions in Emma’s chest coalesced into a burning knot of fury. “What the _fuck_ do you mean, ‘ _obviously’?_ ” she shouted. “There’s no _obviously_ about it! She shows up out of nowhere begging you to take her back and you just up and ditch your _own brother’s_ wedding to be with her! You were gone for hours! What the _fuck_ , Killian! What the fuck was that all about if not you getting back together with her?”

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, collapsing back against the low stone wall that separated the library from the park. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “That was terrible of me, to leave like that. I told Milah this morning that we’d talk after the reception but she insisted she couldn’t wait, and I was just desperate to avoid a scene.” He sighed again, then looked at her imploringly. “Will you sit down, Emma? I—I’d like to tell you what happened. If you’ll listen?”

She shouldn’t, Emma thought. She should end this now, make a clean break. If the past few hours had shown her anything it was that she was already far too messy over Killian. She felt too much for him, way more than their casual sex arrangement warranted, and if she was smart she’d get out now while she still could.

She sat down on the wall, not close enough to touch him. “Tell me.”

“I don’t want to get back with her,” he said firmly. “I truly don’t. For so long I thought I did, but—now that I’ve got some distance and some perspective on our relationship I can see how toxic it was. I wanted to save her and she was using me as an escape.” He gave a sharp exhale and shook his head. “I don’t know, maybe if she’d left her husband when we first got together, maybe then we would’ve been all right,” he mused. “But she kept stalling, kept not choosing me over and over and—I got a bit obsessive about it. The more she strung me along the more I wanted her and it got to the point where she was all I could think about. And somewhere along the way it stopped being about _her_ and became about _winning._ Winning whatever invisible battle I was fighting against her husband.”

He shifted his position, angling his body towards Emma, his eyes earnest and almost pleading. “When she finally ended things for good it broke my heart,” he said hoarsely. “But it also broke my pride, and I think on reflection that might have been the sharper blow. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“No!” She clenched her hand into a fist to stop it reaching for him. “Of course it doesn’t. It just makes you human.”

“I suppose that’s not the worst thing to be.” He shifted back again and stared down at his own hands, where they lay twisted in his lap. “Anyway. Even though I don’t want to get back together with Milah, I still care about her and I do _not_ want her running straight back to her reptilian husband because she thinks that’s her only other option besides me. We had a long talk—that’s why I was gone from the reception for so long—and we’ve figured out a way for her to go back to university and finish her degree. Then she can have a career of her own, which will make her far happier than I ever could.”

“Killi—” Emma croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Killian, I—I know how much you loved her. That kind of love isn’t easy to move past. Are you _sure_ you don’t want to be with her anymore? Truly?”

“Aye, I am. Truly.” He looked at her again with that open, earnest expression she’d missed seeing on his face. “It wouldn’t be fair to her, not when I—” He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed hard.

“Not when you what?” she asked, frowning.

He shook his head. “It would be a step back for both of us, that’s all,” he said. “Not what either of us needs.”

“It’s just—” Emma bit her lip. “Liam thought—he thought—”

“The worst, I imagine,” said Killian wryly. “Liam never liked Milah, and definitely didn’t like me having an affair with a married woman. Which is fair enough, really. It was a bad mistake. But it’s done now, and we’ve made our peace.”

“Have you?”

“Aye,” he said in an odd, soft tone. “We have. You know, as strange as it may sound I’m glad she came here. We both needed the closure, and honestly I haven’t felt this good in years. I feel free.”

Emma couldn’t stop the smile from breaking across her face. “Well, that’s good.”

His own smile flashed, bright and beautiful. “It is good.”

“Good.”

They laughed, and Killian reached out tentatively for her hand. She let him take it, lacing her fingers with his.

“Do you still want to get out of here?” he asked. “Or should we go back? Fair warning, Liam is not best pleased with me right now.”

“Let’s just—can we just go home? I’m exhausted.”

“Aye, love.” He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand, his smile soft. “Home sounds perfect. Let me just grab some things from the library and I’ll meet you at the gate.”

Emma slipped her bag over her shoulder and walked slowly to the gate that marked the entrance to the park. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was exhausted. She felt drained, emotionally and physically, and she was leaning against the gatepost, lost in thoughts of her bed—of curling up in the soft sheets with Killian at her back and just sleeping forever—when a flash of movement caught her eye and she looked up to see Milah.

“Oh!” she cried, startled. “Um, hi.”

Milah stood with her chin up, one hand on her hip, and gave Emma a slow appraising look, from her head to her feet and back again. “So,” she said. “You’re Emma.”

“Ah, yeah. I am.”

“Hmph,” Milah sniffed. “Well. I just hope you appreciate what you’ve got in Killian.”

 _I haven’t got him though,_ Emma thought with a pang of sadness, _not really_. _You broke him so badly that even though he’s free of you now he may never be whole enough to risk his heart again_.

But that was none of Milah’s business, and so she straightened up to her full height, raised her chin as high as Milah’s own and replied “Oh, I _absolutely_ do.”

Milah’s lips twitched appreciatively and she gave a small nod. “Good.”

A taxi pulled up to the curb and she got into it, closing the door behind her without another glance at Emma. It pulled away and Emma watched until its taillights turned a corner. A moment later Killian appeared.

“Ready to go, Swan?” he asked.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

___


	6. Wedding Five: Regina and Robin

Emma leaned back and did a full-body stretch, from the tops of her fingers to the tips of her toes. “Mmmmmm,” she moaned. “ _Why_ don’t we have one of these at home?”

Killian’s chuckle echoed through the room. “Not quite sure where you think we’d get it to fit.”

They were lounging together in the biggest bathtub Emma had ever seen, a sunken one with whirlpool jets in the enormous marble bathroom of the Princess Suite at the Hotel de la Reine—the fanciest hotel in the city and so naturally the one Regina had chosen to be married in. She and Robin were in the penthouse Royal Suite, of course, but as Killian was the best man they had offered him the second finest of the rooms they’d pre-booked, with their compliments.

“It’s the least I can do,” Regina had sniffed, with that peculiar combination of haughty disdain and genuine feeling that was unique to her. “As you’re responsible for bringing Robin into my life.”

And if anything could be better than a hot tub, Emma thought, it was a free hot tub. Even better if _free_ meant _paid-for-by-my-often-bitchy-and-always-overly-demanding-boss_. It _almost_ made up for all those times Regina had made her work overtime.

“We could knock through the outer walls and connect our apartments,” she suggested, pushing away from the side of the tub she’d been leaning against and over to him, settling herself in his lap. “Use the hallway, which is pretty much just wasted space, as a hot tub and and sauna room.”

Killian nuzzled at her neck. “I like how you think, Swan.”

His hand closed around her thigh then slid slowly up it to her hip, where it rested as his lips trailed kisses up her throat and his thumb teased her with light strokes across her belly. His touch, always electric, felt even better beneath the soft, swirling water and Emma sighed into it, turning in his arms until she was astride him. She ran her hands up his arms and then down his chest, tracing swirling patterns through the wet hair. His muscles jumped as her fingertips travelled across his abdomen and she felt the familiar thrill at the eager way he responded to her touch.

She looked up to find him watching her with the softest smile and a look in his eyes that made her belly flutter and her heart thud. She’d been noticing that look a lot lately, and despite how easily she’d always been able to read him, this particular expression she was very careful not to analyse too closely, or think too hard about what her heart was telling her it meant. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions or make assumptions, not after how badly she’d been burned before, by men she’d thought had loved her. What if she was wrong? _Again?_ She couldn’t survive another heartbreak. Not from Killian.

There was no time to worry about that now, though, not when his hand was tangled in her hair and he was tugging her face down for a kiss, not when his fingers were gripping her hip like she was his anchor to the world, when his tongue was stroking hers and he was kissing her so thoroughly that she could swear she heard bells ringing—wait. No, those were real bells. The doorbell, specifically, followed by a loud banging on the door itself.

“Jones!” shouted a voice. “Killian! What the bloody fuck ya doing in there, mate? Come and open this bleeding door.”

“Who’s that?” Emma murmured against Killian’s lips, just as he growled “ _Scarlet._ ”

“Will Scarlet?” Emma demanded, sitting up.

“Aye.” He attempted to catch her again. “I’ll get rid of him and—”

“Oh no you don’t.” She pushed away from his shoulders and stood up. “Get rid of Will Scarlet? The famous Will Scarlet I’ve been wanting to meet for forever?”

“It’s hardly _forever_ , love.”

“The one who used to get you in so much trouble when you were kids, the one whose name Liam still can’t say without shuddering?” She planted her fists on her hips. “The _legend_ Will Scarlet?”

“All right, all right, _both_ of you,” grumbled Killian, as the door shook again under Will’s pounding fist. “I’m coming, damn you!” he shouted, getting out of the tub and grabbing a bathrobe with the hotel’s logo embroidered on the front. Emma followed suit as he stalked to the door of the suite and wrenched it open.

“Scarlet,” he snarled. “What the bloody hell do you want?”

“That’s a fine way to greet your oldest mate!” said the man on the other side of the door, a shortish one whose face wore an expression of comically offended dignity.

“Robin’s my oldest mate...” Killian pointed out, trailing off as Will caught sight of Emma and his eyebrows rose to his hairline.

“Well, I’ll be buggered,” he exclaimed. “No wonder it took you so long to answer the door.” A wide grin creased his face. “You going to introduce me to the lass, then?”

Killian scowled so darkly a lesser man would have skulked away in mortal terror but Will Scarlet merely clapped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him aside. “I can see you’re not so I shall do it myself.” He held out his hand to Emma. “Will Scarlet,” he said. “At your service.” 

“Your reputation precedes you, Will Scarlet,” replied Emma, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She took his hand and shook it warmly. “I’m Emma Swan.”

“Emma _Swan?_ Oh you _don’t_ say?” She wouldn’t have thought it possible for Will’s eyebrows to rise any higher, and yet they did. “Your reputation precedes you as well.”

“Does it now?” said Emma, observing from the corner of her eye that Killian’s jaw muscle was beginning to twitch dangerously.

“Oh, yes. In a way that makes me very curious to know how you came to be here in my old mate Killian’s hotel room in naught but a dressing gown and with your hair all wet.”

“That is none of your business,” Killian snarled. “What _is_ your business here, in actual fact?”

“Well, I thought you might be in need of a bit of company, what with Robin otherwise engaged,” said Will. “But if this is what it looks like…” he let the sentence trail away, eyebrows still raised, clearly waiting for an explanation. When Killian declined to provide one, he grinned again. “I came to invite you to have a drink with me down at the bar, for old time’s sake,” he said. “The offer is open and now of course extended to include your lovely…neighbour? I think she is?”

“That’s right,” said Emma.

“Right. Well I’ll be down at the bar with a drink in my hand should either of you wish to join me. Once you’ve dried off, of course,” he said with a wink, “and perhaps put on a scrap or two of clothing.”

“Thanks, mate but I think we’re—”

“I’d love to,” Emma broke in. “I’ve heard _so_ much about you. I’d love to get your side of it.”

“Be careful with such a suggestion, lass,” said Will, adopting a solemn expression that could not be more obviously false. “My side might shock you.”

“Really?” Emma grinned. “Good.”

“Oooh, Jones, I like this one,” smirked Will, neatly sidestepping Killian’s attempt to grab his arm. He darted to the door. “I’ll see you at the bar then, Emma?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Killian slammed the door shut, but not before Will got the last word. “Looking forward to it, love!”

~

Many, many hours later Killian shut that same door behind him with a click that made him wince, far too loud for the quiet room. He winced at his wince, then forced his face to remain still lest any further change of expression cause another stab of pain to shoot through his skull. Already he could feel his hangover looming, rising up between his eyes to grip his brain like a vice. Water, he thought, he must have water. Water and aspirin, and both of them _now_ , before he lost the battle with the rum in his veins and simply passed out.

With careful steps he made his way into the bathroom and gulped several glasses of water before digging through Emma’s toiletry bag in search of some pain relief. She always kept a bottle or two of—ah yes, there it was. He fumbled for a moment with the child-proof cap, then carefully tapped two tablets into his hand and swallowed them down, with another glass of water as a chaser.

He left the pill bottle on the counter, feeling wholly unequal to the challenge of replacing the cap on it, and stumbled to the bedroom. It was dark of course, but for a shaft of moonlight that fell across the bed and made him catch his breath.

Emma was curled up right in the middle of the huge bed, in a pool of soft sheets with her hair in chaos around her. The moonlight gilded her features and the small smile on her lips, as if she were dreaming of something very pleasant indeed. Killian’s heart squeezed painfully at the sight, with an ache that settled deep in his gut. The generous size of this bed gave him no excuses, no reason why they might need to sleep tucked up together as they did their own, much narrower beds, but Killian knew with an overwhelming sense of helplessness that he would curl himself around her anyway, as soon as he got into bed. He simply couldn’t not. These days he could barely sleep at all without her in his arms.

He should’ve left the bar when she had, should’ve followed her back up here where they could pick up where they’d left off in the hot tub. Shouldn’t have let Will talk him into _just one more, mate_ and then another and another, accompanying the drinks with clever questions until the sneaky bastard had managed to coax from Killian the whole story of himself and Emma and their arrangement. In a way it was good; Killian had needed, desperately, to talk to someone about Emma, but all his friends were her friends too—or worse, her _brother_ —and hadn’t been able to bring himself to confess to any of them. Will was a surprisingly sympathetic and helpful ear, once he’d stopped laughing that is, and at least Killian wouldn’t have to see him again after tomorrow. But still—more talking and less drinking would have been the wiser call.

He should have stopped when he was still only buzzed enough to feel good and not kept barreling on until he got so pissed he couldn’t be of any use to Emma even if she were awake and wanting him to. He, of course, always wanted to, able or not. He accepted now that this fire Emma ignited in his blood was not going to burn out. If anything it kept growing stronger the closer they became, and now that Killian had finally talked it all out with a friend, made his peace with Milah, and taken a hard look at his past with clear eyes he knew the reason why.

He stumbled forward then stopped abruptly when he realised he still held a glass of water loosely in his hand, swallowed down as much of it as he could manage and placed it carefully on the small table next to the bed, then got undressed, letting his clothes fall in a heap on the floor. His tidy soul protested at this disgraceful act, but was drowned out by the much louder demands of his body, for _sleep_ and for _Emma_.

The sheets were soft and blissfully cool on his skin and Emma, when he folded her in his arms, blissfully warm and softer still. She was sound asleep but even so she snuggled into him with a murmur and a satisfied hum. Killian’s head was throbbing and his eyes falling shut but he couldn’t resist taking a moment to breathe her in, to savour the gentle fragrance of her hair and skin—not perfume just _her_ , a scent he knew he’d never tire of. He pressed a sloppy kiss on her shoulder and another on her neck, then tucked her head beneath his chin and settled into their accustomed sleeping position with a sigh.

 _I love you_ , his heart cried, and he wished beyond anything that he could say those words aloud. There had been moments over the past few weeks when he thought Emma might be ready to hear them, but they were always gone in a flash, and knowing as he did how badly she’d been hurt before and how quickly she would run if he pushed too hard, Killian had swallowed the words down, choking a bit harder on them each time. It was painful, holding his feelings in, but the alternative would be far worse. Losing her, driving her away because he was too impatient—that was unthinkable. He could wait. He _would_ wait, for as long as she needed.

 _As long as you need, my love,_ he thought, then let his eyes fall shut and was instantly asleep.

~

Of all the weddings she’d attended this summer, this one was definitely the most extravagant, thought Emma, as she took her seat in the hotel’s grand ballroom. Which really wasn’t surprising, she supposed. Regina had been married once before—Emma didn’t know the details but from what she’d heard it had been a hastily thrown-together affair, forced by her mother who’d wanted the money and social standing a powerful son-in-law would bring. The whole thing had ended badly—again, Emma wasn’t privy to the details—but the upside seemed to be that Regina was determined that this wedding—the wedding she chose, to the man she loved—would be the grandest she could manage, to show her mother the value of making it on your own and marrying only when you wished to and only for love.

Despite their sometimes fraught working relationship, Emma had to admire that, and admire Regina for sticking to her principles, however rigid they could sometimes be.

And Robin was pretty fantastic. Not just because he was Killian’s oldest friend and the most important person in his life aside from Liam. It was more the way he softened Regina’s sharp edges, not in a way that restricted her but simply brought out another side to her. And she in turn helped keep him steady, and tone down the wildness that according to Killian had once been legendary. They were such opposite personalities that on paper it would seem that a relationship between them could never possibly work, and yet it did. They balanced each other.

Her thoughts drifted to the rest of the summer’s weddings. David and Mary Margaret who were so perfectly in tune with each other… Ruby and Mulan so fiercely protective… Anna and Kristoff so sweetly devoted… Belle and Liam so staunchly supportive. Not all of Emma’s aversion to marriage came from her fear of being hurt; it owed at least as much to her worry about getting stuck in a relationship that didn't fit her, with expectations she couldn’t possibly hope to meet. She had no idea how to be a wife—she barely knew how to be a girlfriend, that much was obvious from her track record. But maybe, she reflected now, maybe marriage wasn’t a one-size-fits-all sort of a deal. Maybe a marriage was just whatever each individual couple chose to make of it. Maybe with the right person she wouldn’t feel trapped. Maybe, instead, she would finally feel like she’d found the place in the world where she _fit_.

Like waking up that morning to find Killian curled around her, holding her tight in the middle of a huge bed and imploring her to _stop shouting so bloody loud, Swan_ , when she’d gently nudged him awake. She always fit in Killian’s arms, no matter the size of the bed or the strength of the hangover. If she were happy or sad, crying or laughing, there was no place she felt more like herself than with him. _He_ was where she fit. 

She looked over to where he stood next to Robin, smiling valiantly though she could see the strain in his face, the hangover that was still there despite the gallons of coffee she’d procured for him, and the greasiest bacon she could find. What would their life be like if they were really together? Probably, if she was honest, not _that_ different to their current one. They might go out in public more, perhaps, just the two of them. Have real dates at real restaurants like actual grown-ups, with conversation and PDA. Knowing Killian he’d want to hold her hand, or kiss the back of it, or put his arm around her as they walked. And as much as she wished she could scoff at those cosy images her brain kept conjuring, Emma couldn’t deny that she wanted that too.She wanted the hand-holding, the old-fashioned kissing, the walking arm-in-arm. She wanted real dates and to touch him when their friends were watching, and to hear him call her his girlfriend. She wanted _him,_ for real and—maybe, possibly—for forever.

And she had no idea how to tell him.

~

After the ceremony Emma sat at her table chatting comfortably with David and Mary Margaret, and with Ruby and Mulan whose appearance at the wedding had taken her a bit by surprise.

“Robin has been a good friend to me,” said Mulan, and offered no further explanation. Ruby simply shrugged and shook her head.

When Killian joined them she felt herself go tense, her belly jangling with nerves. She forced herself to smile and joke with him as they always did among their friends, and tried not to imagine how things could be if they were together. If she could stand close to him and slip her arm casually around his waist, feel his own around her shoulders and see him look down at her with that soft smile that made her feel all gooey inside.

“You all right, Swan?” he asked, nudging her foot with his.

“Yeah, I just—” She couldn’t look at him. “I might, um, take a walk.”

He frowned. “Do you want some company?”

“No! I mean, no, I’m just going to stretch my legs a bit. I won’t be long.”

“Okay.” She could hear the concern in his voice but she ignored it, turning quickly away and heading out of the room.

She stayed away for as long as she could, until she began to worry that the others might come looking for her. When she returned though, her table was empty. With a sigh of relief she headed towards it and nearly collided with Regina.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Regina favoured her with a haughty glare. “Clearly.”

“Yeah.” Emma knew better than to argue with her. She took her seat, expecting Regina to move on, but the other woman didn’t leave. “Um,” she said cautiously. “Is there something I can do for you, Regina?”

“Possibly. I’m looking for your boyfriend, have you seen him?”

“My boyfr—friend,” Emma stuttered. “Do you mean Killian?”

Regina didn’t roll her eyes, but it was clear she wanted to. “Yes, _obviously,_ ” she sighed. “Who else would I mean?”

Emma’s belly fluttered wildly, even as her heart clenched in fear. “Killian’s not my boyfriend,” she said harshly.

“Really?” Regina raised an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

“Of course he does! We’re—we’re just friends.”

“Sure.” Regina did roll her eyes this time. “Your delusions aside, Miss Swan, I—”

“It’s not a delusion,” snapped Emma. Fear had her fully in its grip now, and she wondered wildly if anyone else had seen her and Killian together and drawn the same conclusions Regina had. Regina didn’t even know her that well, if she thought Emma had feelings for Killian did that mean everyone else did too? What if someone said something to him, even just jokingly? What if he thought she wanted more from him… what if he got freaked out and he left… what if he _left_ her because of some stupid misunderstanding and she lost him forever? She could _not_ let that happen, _anything_ but that.

“Killian’s not my boyfriend and he _never_ will be, okay?” she continued, still in that harsh voice, trying not to panic. “Never. I don’t think about him that way, not _at all_. Is that clear?”

“Whatever you say.” Regina shrugged. “Your personal life is your business. I was just wondering if you knew where he’s gotten to.”

“Oh.” Emma felt a bit foolish for her outburst. “Um, I haven’t seen him for a while. Maybe at the bar?”

Regina inclined her head. “I’ll look there.”

~

Killian, as it turned out, was not at the bar, at least not until after Emma had gone there herself and ordered a whisky, sipping it slowly to calm her racing heart.

“Hard spirits this early in the afternoon, Swan,” said his voice, “Tsk tsk.”

She turned to see him leaning against the bar, smirking at her in a way she hadn’t seen him smirk in a long time. It sent a ripple of unease over her skin; now that she knew him better she recognised that smirk for what it was—a mask he wore when he wanted to hold himself apart, to protect himself. For some reason he thought he needed to wear it with her now, and she felt a new fear grip her.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Um, Killian, can we talk?”

His expression flickered for the briefest moment, a flare of pain and longing in his eyes. Then the smirk returned, harder than before. “Aye, love, of course. But there’s no need to look so apprehensive, I already know what you’re going to say.”

Emma felt a flicker of hope. “You do?”

“Mmm. I heard what you said, you see. To Regina.”

“Oh.” She closed her eyes as the hope winked out. “Um, yeah, about that. I’m sorry that Regina—”

He waved a hand. “Don’t be sorry. That’s our arrangement, after all. Everything you said was true.”

Emma frowned at him, trying to read his mood. Was he upset because Regina assumed they were a couple or because she, Emma, had said they weren’t?

“But I’ve been thinking,” said Killian, still with that terrible fake smirk, his eyes blank and hard. “Perhaps it’s time we called an end to our little dalliance.”

“What?” Emma whispered.

“Aye. I’ve realised, since seeing Milah again, that I really just needed someone to stroke my ego, you know, help me get back in the game. And you’ve been brilliant at that darling, truly, but it was never meant to be a permanent thing between us, was it?”

“No.” Emma ground out, feeling as though each word was choking her. “It wasn’t.”

“Well then, if you’re amenable, we can just end it now. Clean break, no hard feelings.”

Emma felt icy cold, her brain sluggish. “No—no hard feelings,” she repeated.

“Good.” He nodded. “You take the room tonight, I’m going to bunk in with Will, or possibly that redhead who keeps giving me the come-hither glance.” His smirk deepened. “I can get a ride with Will too, so you don’t have to wait for me tomorrow. I’ll see you at ho—” he swallowed hard. “At the apartments.”

“The apartments,” Emma repeated again, numb with shock. She watched as though through another person’s eyes as Killian nodded once more then turned to leave.

 _No,_ she wanted to scream at him. _No, wait… what… what are you doing, what is happening?_ It was everything she’d feared, he'd misunderstood and now he was leaving and she couldn’t stop him… stop him… _Pull yourself together, Emma!_

“Killian…” she croaked. “Killian, wait!” _Don’t go, please don’t go…_

But he was gone already, lost in the crowd and too far away to hear the shattering of her heart.

___


	7. Wedding Six: Graham and August

Emma focused her attention on her feet, concentrated on putting one of them in front of the other, first left then right then left again. She kept her eyes on the trail, trying not to trip over any more rocks or embarrass herself by sucking air into her lungs as hard as she wished to. She’d thought she was in pretty good shape—she worked out regularly, weight lifting and cardio, but apparently even that level of fitness wasn’t equal to climbing a _goddamn mountain_.

Trust Graham and August to have the most hipster wedding in fucking ever, she thought grumpily. On a mountaintop at dawn, for fuck’s sake. Followed by a lakeside reception with swimming and canoeing and rock climbing followed by a buffet of local, organic food they would cook themselves in brick ovens, served with some obscure craft beer August swore was “the most authentic thing you’ve ever tasted.”

She was beginning to understand a bit better why Killian always called him “that poncey twat.”

Her heart gave a painful lurch and she swallowed hard, forcing her focus back on her feet. Left then right, left then right. Left, right. _Just a little farther, you can do this, Emma…_

Some minutes later she crested the trail and emerged into the campsite at the top of the mountain. Stopping dead in her tracks, she caught her breath on a gasp, this time not from exertion but from wonder.

 _Well,_ she thought. _This is almost worth the damn climb_.

The rocky clearing before her was fairly small, surrounded on three sides by tall trees and on the fourth by a breathtaking vista of green mountains and blue sky and a valley with a lake at the bottom so clear and still it reflected the movement of the clouds. A large fire pit sat at the centre, around which were scattered several structures that looked like transparent igloos. _Eco-cabins,_ they were described on the wedding website, made of wood and glass, each powered by solar panels and fully equipped with a bed, a toilet and shower, and a wood-burning stove. Glamping at its finest.

The wedding website linked to some pictures from the glampsite's marketing, pictures of a couple enjoying a stroll by the lake, cooking dinner in the brick ovens, lying together on a sheepskin rug and looking up at the stars through the roof of their igloo. Scrolling through them several weeks ago, Emma had actually found herself feeling excited about this wedding, imagining those activities but instead of the couple in the pictures it would be her and Killian—

She gave her head a hard shake and barely resisted the urge to smack herself in the forehead. She needed to _stop_ this. Stop thinking about him all the damn time. In the three weeks since the last wedding—three of the longest, bleakest weeks of Emma’s life—she hadn’t yet managed to go more than an hour or two at a time without him invading her brain. Even sleep offered no respite—the bastard haunted her dreams as well.

Forcing all thoughts of Killian and lakes and sheepskin rugs under the stars out of her mind, Emma turned to greet Graham, who was waving at her as he approached, smiling widely.

“Hey,” he said. “Glad you could make it.”

“I know that’s just a thing people say, but let me tell you buddy, I almost didn’t,” retorted Emma. “You could’ve warned me how steep that trail is!”

Graham laughed and wrapped her in a warm hug. “If I did that no one would have come,” he pointed out.

“That’s probably true.” Emma grinned as she returned his hug. “Who’s actually going to be here, by the way? There don’t seem to be that many cabins.”

“No, it’s a pretty small guest list, though we’ll be live-streaming the ceremony so anyone who wants to can join in.”

Of course they were, thought Emma. August _would_. “You get wifi up here?” is what she said.

“Of course,” he replied solemnly. “How else would we Instagram?”

Emma couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not—his bone-dry sense of humour had never really jived with hers—so she let it go.

“So yeah,” Graham continued. “The people who we actually invited are pretty much just our closest friends. Neither of us has much in the way of family, as you know. So instead we’ll have the family we chose.”

 _Does that include Killian?_ she wanted to ask. Killian had of course been invited in his own right, not just as her plus-one—even though August had to know that he wasn’t his former roommate’s favourite person—but would he still show after... after everything? He’d been avoiding her so thoroughly these past three weeks, would he risk seeing her again here, at a wedding he hadn’t even wanted to go to? Her heart beat faster at the thought, and she swallowed hard through a throat gone thick and dry.

“Killian _is_ a part of that family,” said Graham, “as much as he might not wish to be. He’ll be here soon.” Emma looked up sharply to find him watching her with a knowing half-smile.

“Will he?” She tried to sound nonchalant but her voice betrayed her, rising far too high on the second word.

“He will.” Graham’s steady gaze made her want to squirm, and also, unnervingly, to cry into his shoulder and tell him everything. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pry into what happened with you guys,” he said gently, “but you should know that I’m dying of curiosity and if you did want to confide in someone, I’m here for you.”

Emma swallowed back the torrent of words that wanted to burst from her. “What makes you think anything happened?” she croaked.

“Emma,” he sighed. “Darling. You are my very favourite ex-girlfriend. Give me some credit for knowing you well enough to be able to tell when something’s upset you.”

Emma gave a derisive snort.

Graham frowned at her. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged.

His eyes narrowed. “Nope, not good enough,” he declared. Taking her hand, he led her to the edge of the clearing where wide, smooth rocks formed a sort of platform, perfect for taking in the view of the valley and lake below. He sat down cross-legged with his back to the clearing and patted the rock beside him. “Come on, take a seat and let’s have it out,” he said. “My spidey-senses are telling me there’s something really wrong, beyond whatever’s going on with Killian. Let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Emma.” He gave her a stern look and patted the rock again.

She sighed. “ _Gra_ -ham,” she repeated in a mocking sing-song as she sat down. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

She shook her head. “I really don’t.” She did.

Graham sighed. “Whatever it is you really can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything. No judgement, I promise.”

“Hah.”

“Oh, come on. How awful could it be?”

“Pretty awful.” Emma stared at her hands. “Like, you might push me off the mountain awful.”

“That seems unlikely.”

She glanced over at him. He was staring out at the horizon, patiently, a man with all the time in the world. He’d always been like that, unrushed and unrushable. It had driven her crazy when they were dating. “You really want to know?” she asked.

He nodded. “I really do.”

“And you promise you won’t murder me?”

“Solemn promise.”

“Okay.” She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay. Here’s the thing. The thing is that—look, I know I shouldn’t but I just keep wondering... I just keep wondering why _me?_ ”

“Why you what?”

Emma groped for the right words to explain what she meant, this nebulous, nasty feeling that had been eating at her ever since she and Graham had broken up. “When we dated you were in your mid-twenties,” she said slowly. “You’d had girlfriends before—lots of them if I remember right—but no boyfriends. Nothing that suggested you weren’t completely straight. But then _I_ come along and we’re barely together a year before you’re breaking up with me because you’ve fallen in love with a man. And I’m not saying— _please_ don’t misunderstand, this isn’t about you being gay. It’s just—why me? What was it about dating _me_ that made you realise it?”

He turned to look at her, a small frown between his eyes. “Is that really what you think, Emma? That dating you was what made me come out?”

She gave an embarrassed half-nod, half-shrug. “Kind of? I mean, I know your sexuality is just who you are. I _know_ that, in my head. But I—I can’t get rid of this feeling, that there must have been something about being with me that, I don’t know, made you realise what was missing for you?”

Graham shook his head. “It wasn’t a realisation. Or at least not a sudden one, with trumpets sounding and sunlight breaking through the clouds or anything like that,” he said. “I’ve always known, though it did take me some time to work out precisely what my deal was. But Emma—you do know I’m bi, right?”

She didn’t, actually. For some reason that had never occurred to her, and now she felt ashamed of herself. “No,” she whispered.

“Dating you wasn’t something I did out of fear because I wanted to stay in the closet,” he continued, “and I never felt like there was anything missing or not right when we were together. I was attracted to you and I cared about you. I still care about you. But you know as well as I do that caring is all it was. We were never in love.”

“No,” she agreed, thinking once more of Killian. “We weren’t.”

“And then when I met August—that really was trumpets sounding and sunlight breaking through the clouds. It was like everything that felt off in my life just clicked into place. But it wasn’t because he’s a man, it was because he’s _him_ and I’m _me_ and when we’re together we become something better than we are apart. And it doesn’t mean that my relationship with you wasn’t real. It absolutely was. Real and very important to me, and I don’t regret a single second of it.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly. I’m sorry you ever believed otherwise.” He took her hand, squeezing it gently in his. “We had a great time together, you and me. But ultimately we just aren’t right for each other, and I think you know that too.”

“Yeah. I do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, looking out at the valley. Emma felt the urge to confide in him pressing on her chest again. She hated talking about her feelings more than almost anything else, but she was desperate for an outlet, anything that might relieve this tearing ache inside her, even a little bit.

“When I met Killian—” her voice broke and she cleared her throat before continuing. “When I met Killian there weren’t any trumpets or sun breaking through clouds. I kind of hated him.”

Graham chuckled. “Yeah. For someone so hot he makes a really bad first impression, doesn’t he?”

“He does! Everyone says so.”

“But then later he grows on you.”

“Like a fungus.”

Graham laughed again. “When did you realise you were in love with him?”

Emma groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I hate being obvious.”

“You’re not, honestly. I just know you. When did you realise?”

“When he broke up with me. I mean, _gah_ , it wasn’t even an actual breakup.” She felt tears welling in her eyes and tried to blink them away. “We were sleeping together and it was supposed to be this temporary, casual thing but it just sort of grew… and I knew I wanted us to be more but I didn’t know how to tell him… then he overheard me saying some things to Regina that—well, they weren’t nice.” The tears overflowed her eyes and began to run down her cheeks. “I _hate_ thinking about how he must have felt hearing that. It actually keeps me awake, thinking about how hurt he must have been. How _I_ hurt him, because I’m—because I can’t—”

She broke off on a sob, brushing impatiently at her cheeks as Graham put his arm around her and pulled her against his chest. “Shhh,” he said. “Stop beating yourself up.”

“I can’t _help_ it! I hurt him so badly that he just reacted—you know he’s like that when he’s really upset, he lashes out without thinking—and he told me he wanted to end our thing and I couldn’t come up with anything to say to that. It was so sudden and unexpected that my mind went blank. A minute earlier I’d been trying to figure out how to tell him I wanted us to be real, and then there he was telling me he wanted to end it and I just—I couldn’t think of anything to say until he was gone. And I felt—fuck, I _swear_ I could feel my heart breaking. Just cracking right open in my chest. That’s when I knew I loved him, when it was too fucking late and I had ruined everything just like I always do.”

“Emma,” said Graham gently. “You don’t ruin everything. Not even close.”

“Okay, maybe the way things ended with you wasn’t quite what I thought it was,” she conceded, “but there was still Neal—”

“Neal’s a fucking bellend. That was not your fault.”

“—and Walsh—”

“Dull as fuck and a cheating arsehole. Not worth your time.”

Emma laughed through a sob. “Maybe.” She gave a small shrug. “But Killian was worth it, and more.”

“Killian _is_ worth it. I can’t believe you’re giving up so easily. Have you even tried to talk to him?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t think of what to say, how to make him listen.”

“You should try. It might not be as hard as you think.”

“But what if he hates me?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I couldn’t—that would kill me. Just finish me right off.” She winced slightly at her dramatic declaration, then a bit harder when Graham replied with amusement in his voice.

“He definitely doesn’t hate you. He couldn’t.”

“Well…”

“You haven’t seen him at all the past few weeks, I’m guessing?”

“No.”

“I have. He went out with August and me last weekend for our bachelor party. We practically had to drag him along, then I kind of wished we hadn’t. I’ve never seen him looking so bad. Exhausted and pale, like he’s not sleeping. And the look on his face when we asked about you is something I never, ever want to see again—just pure heartbreak. Trust me, he does not hate you.”

“Oh God, now I feel worse,” moaned Emma. “He really isn’t sleeping?”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“Fuck.”

“But it’s more than just that,” Graham pressed on. “Killian’s different around you. You wouldn’t see it of course since you don’t know what he’s like when you’re not there, but for the rest of us the difference is glaring. Well, I say the rest of us, David’s pretty clueless.”

Emma snorted. “He generally is.”

“Well, yeah. But August and I and Ruby, and I think even Mary Margaret have suspected for a while how Killian feels about you. That he loves you.” 

“Do you think—do you think he really does?”

“Yes I do. Last weekend confirmed it but like I said I’ve suspected for a while. He’s not great at hiding his emotions, you know, and the way he lights up when you’re around—you’d have seen it yourself a long time ago if you weren’t so stubborn.”

“I—might have seen it.” In the soft looks he always gave her, and the way he touched her, and how thoughtful and considerate of her he was. “But I was afraid to believe it could be real.”

“It’s real. Darling, honestly, he couldn’t be more obvious if he had ‘I love Emma Swan’ tattooed on his forehead—and that’s probably something he would do if you wanted him to.”

Emma’s heart leapt and began to pound, though she couldn’t help a small cringe. “ _I’m_ not that obvious, am I?”

“No, you’re much harder to read. Mulan actually thinks Killian’s pining away over nothing and Liam’s low-key worried you’re going to break his heart.”

She shook her head. “I can’t _believe_ you guys talk about us behind our backs like this.”

“Oh, _can’t_ you?” teased Graham.

“Well no, okay, maybe I can.”

“I mean, I bet Killian’s said some stuff to you about August that _I_ wouldn’t want to hear.”

“Um. No comment?”

He laughed. “We just talk about you because we love you guys and we don’t want you to let your past hurts destroy your future. In all seriousness, Emma, _please_ don’t let painful experiences stop you from giving your heart to the right person. Neal and Walsh and I weren’t right for you, but Killian is. You’re right for each other. Don’t be scared of loving him because the people you loved in the past weren’t the right ones. That’s not a fault of your love, or of you.”

“Killian said something similar, actually,” said Emma. “He said that despite how much Milah hurt him he doesn’t regret being with her. And I suppose—I mean, I don’t regret being with you. I guess I don’t even regret Neal, it was a learning experience. Walsh though…”

“Walsh you just chalk up as a mistake and move on. But the others—I genuinely feel that if we can learn from experiences, even hurtful ones, then they’re valuable. And I don’t think that loving again after you’ve been burned is repeating past mistakes, especially not when you love the right person the next time. Like I love August, and like you love Killian. And like Killian loves you.”

~

The sun had begun to set behind them and the rock was getting cold under their legs. Graham produced a tissue for Emma to dry her cheeks, then took her hand and led her to one of the cabins. It was the one farthest from the fire pit, tucked away behind some tall trees but with another lovely view of the lake valley. He opened the door with a flourish.

“This one’s yours,” he said with a grin.

It was a surprisingly generous space—the glass made it seem like an extension of the outdoors, only much warmer, with a fire already burning in the little stove. Emma’s heart clenched when she saw that there really were sheepskins on the floor in front of its little hearth, and that the bed faced the valley. Waking up in it would feel like waking up in the sunrise itself.

“It’s beautiful,” she choked, and it _was_. It was just… awfully lonely for one person.

Just then she heard August’s voice outside the door. “So you’ll be staying in this one,” it said, as the door swung open and he appeared with Killian right behind. Emma gasped and Killian came to a dead stop, staring at her as she knew she must be at him.

“Swan!” he said blankly, just as she exclaimed “Killian!”

“Ohh nooo,” said August. “Did I forget that you two both called us last week with transparently casual requests for separate sleeping arrangements? How very awful of me. I’m _so_ sorry and also every other cabin is full so I guess you’ll just have to make the best of it. Wedding’s at dawn, your alarm’s already set. Graham, we should go do that thing now.”

“Oh, right, the thing,” said Graham, completely deadpan. “We should definitely go do that.”

They hustled each other out of the cabin, leaving Emma and Killian still staring. She couldn’t meet his eyes but she could feel his on her, and when she gathered the courage to look up the ache of longing in them broke her heart. Killian dropped his gaze immediately and scratched behind his ear.

“Subtle as a pair of sledgehammers, aren’t they,” he muttered. “I foresee great things for this union.”

He set his bag down on the floor and ran a hand through his hair. “Swan, I—” he began, and Emma knew he was going to apologise, offer to sleep on the floor—or even outside if it would make her more comfortable—and she couldn’t let him do that. Not after her conversation with Graham.

“I’m sorry!” she blurted, cutting him off.

“What?” He frowned at her. “What are you sorry for? I’m the one who—”

“—no, you didn’t do anything wrong—”

“—ruined things with my bloody temper—

“—I shouldn’t have said those things to Regina—”

“—I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did—”

“—you were justified,” said Emma. “I was awful.” 

“No, love.” His eyes were soft now, and pleading. “You weren’t and I wasn’t justified at all. It was a stupid, knee-jerk reaction. I know you, Emma, and I know you were just trying to stop any gossip about us before it could get started. I’d have done the same. I _should_ have done the same, should have backed you up, but—it’s just—” He shoved a hand in his hair and tugged on it.

“Just what?” she whispered, shoving her own hands in her pockets to stop from reaching out, soothing him.

He sighed and looked at her, his expression open and raw. “It’s just that what you said, the—the way you said it. That you could never—” he cleared his throat “—never think of me that way. That’s what Milah said. That she couldn’t see me replacing her husband or envision a future with me.”

“Killian, no—”

“And all I could think was _it’s happening again_. Again I’m deluding myself, trying to cling on to a woman who’s made it obvious she doesn’t want to be with me. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t go through that a second time.”

“So you lashed out,” said Emma, willing him to see that she understood.

“Aye,” he agreed, “as hard as I could. I wanted to hurt you as badly as I was hurting—and that I fear is unforgivable. All I can do is apologise.”

“It isn’t unforgivable, though! I understand completely. _I_ know _you_ , and I know what you’re like when you’re hurting. Plus I’m the one who said those things—”

“True things.”

“ _Stupid_ things,” she cried. “Things I didn’t even _mean_.”

He looked up sharply, hope flaring in his eyes. “Did you not?”

Emma’s heart was pounding and she could barely catch her breath. She shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”

“Not—not at all?”

She shook her head again. “Not at all,” she whispered.

He closed the space between them in two strides and pulled her roughly into his arms. “Does that mean—”

“Yeah.” She nodded, gripping his shirt tightly. “I think it does.”

He cupped her face in his hands, leaned his forehead against hers. “You think,” he breathed, “or—”

“I _know_. I want us to be real, Killian. I want yo—”

Her words were swallowed by his lips on hers, kissing her deeply and with an edge of desperation as his hand sank into her hair and he pulled her closer. She clutched at him, overwhelmed with emotion. An hour ago she wasn’t sure she’d even see him again and now he was _here_ and kissing her, his arms tight around her like he never wanted to let her go. 

Tears welled up again, swiftly before she could stop them, dampening her cheeks. Killian broke the kiss with a look of concern and brushed them away with gentle strokes of his thumb.

“What’s this, love?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” she said, wiping futilely at her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong, I just missed you so much.”

He pulled her close again, tucking her head against his shoulder and stroking her hair. “I missed you too,” he said gruffly. “I can’t tell you how much time I spent standing outside your door trying to work up the courage to knock.”

She choked a laugh. “Same. I must have written and deleted a hundred texts to you. A thousand.”

“God, we’re idiots,” he groaned. “Let’s never do this again.”

“Be idiots?”

“Well, preferably, but that may be beyond our control. I mean let’s never break up again. I don’t want to be apart from you for this long, ever.”

“Fuck, no.” She squeezed her arms tight around his waist, her face pressed against his neck. His fingers in her hair were so soothing, and her tears were beginning to dry.

“Killian?” she murmured.

“Aye, love?”

“Did you really think of this as a breakup?”

“Aye. I know it wasn’t, but—well—”

“It felt like one, yeah. For me too. The worst one I’ve ever had.”

“For me too.”

Worse than Milah, was the unspoken acknowledgement. Worse than Neal. Losing each other hurt worse than the defining heartbreaks of both their lives, which meant… it meant she needed to tell him, Emma thought. The words were just hanging there in the air, waiting to be spoken. Someone needed to say them, and she knew that Killian would never push her like that. It would have to be her.

“I—” she began. “Killian, I—” She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists in his shirt and forced the words out, before they could choke her again. “I love you.”

His breath whooshed out of him and he sagged in relief. “Oh, thank fuck,” he gasped.

“What?”

“Ugh, you see? I told you being an idiot is beyond my control.” He pulled back so he could look at her face, his eyes shining with happiness and a bit like it was his turn to fight back tears. “I’m sorry, love, that was an entirely inappropriate way to react to the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard in my life.”

She caught her breath. “Are they?”

“Absolutely they are. And Emma—” he brushed her hair back from her face as a tear fell to trickle down his cheek. “I love you too. So much, darling.”

“Well.” She was smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. “Thank fuck.”

He laughed, the lightest, most carefree laugh she’d ever heard from him then cupped her cheek in his hand with the softest touch, bringing their lips together in a kiss both familiar and entirely new. She met him eagerly, curling her arm around his neck and her fingers into his hair. His hand slid down her back and over her ass and she moaned, pressing her hips into his as he slanted his mouth over hers and turned their sweet kiss hot.

It felt so good to be back in his arms with his familiar flavour on her tongue and the fire in her blood that he alone could ignite, so good to feel him hard against her core and his hands on her skin when he tugged up her shirt and—“Wait,” Emma panted, putting her hands on his shoulders and giving him a shove. “Wait.”

Killian’s eyes were hazy with lust, and a hint of fear that made her want to throw herself back into his arms and stay there forever. “What is it?”

“This cabin is made entirely of windows,” she said. “Anyone can see in. And maybe this isn’t a secret anymore but there are still _some_ things I’d like to keep private.”

“Good point,” he agreed. “Fortunately, the eco-cabin provides.” He went to the door and flipped a switch on a panel next to it. Instantly the glass panes of the igloo turned opaque, save for a circle at the top of the curving roof which remained clear.

“To let in the starlight,” said Killian softly, nodding at it.

The sun had sunk behind the trees and the stars were beginning to come out, twinkling brightly through the clean mountain air. Emma looked up at them and a smile curved her lips. It was exactly what she'd imagined weeks ago, the picture from the website only with her and Killian.

“It’s perfect,” she said, letting her head fall against his shoulder as they looked up at the sky.

“Aye, it is,” he agreed. “And now, Emma, light and love of my life, woman of my dreams, may I _please_ make love to you?”

“Mmmm,” she sighed, turning to loop her arms around his neck. “Yeah, I really, really think you should.”

___


	8. Epilogue: Emma and Killian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for coming on this silly little summer romcom journey with me. The ending may not be quite what you expected, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless ❤️❤️.

Two years later:

The hotel was small but right on the shore, tucked into a rocky corner of an inlet that tourists rarely visited, preferring the larger, sandier beach to the south. It had once been a family home, long ago, and it retained that cosy feeling in its weathered clapboard and well-loved furnishings. The largest of its four guest rooms, the one-time master bedroom, boasted a king-size canopy bed, a claw-foot bath, and a set of large French doors—an original feature of the house—opening onto a balcony that overlooked the sea.

On this balcony Emma stood, dressed in simple ivory silk with the breeze ruffling her hair and the petals of the hibiscus blossoms she had woven into it. She watched in quiet contentment as waves rolled in from sea to shore, crashed against the rocks with a burst of foamy spray, then retreated, only to roll in once more moments later. It was a soothing sight.

She felt so full of happiness she didn’t think she could hold any more, yet when she turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening and saw Killian emerge, adjusting his cufflinks and smoothing his lapels, a fresh wave of it engulfed her. She smiled as she watched him preen, thinking of their conversation from that very morning.

_“Are you happy, Emma?” Killian murmured as they lay entwined on the bed, stroking her cheek with his fingertips._

_She smiled at him. “Today of all days? Do you even have to ask?”_

_“Indulge me.”_

_“Yes, Killian, I am happy,” she parroted dutifully, then laughed when he gave a long-suffering sigh and rolled over until she was resting her forearms and head on his chest. “I’m very happy,” she said in a softer tone. “These last two years have been the best of my life.”_

_His smile made her heart ache, in the loveliest of ways. “Of mine too,” he said._

_She shimmied up his chest and kissed him, just lightly, but when he tangled his fingers in her hair and deepened it she sighed softly and melted against him. His arm tightened around her, his hand curling around her ass, and she could feel his cock stirring to life against her thigh._

_“We’re going to be late,” she murmured against his lips._

_Mmmm,” he growled, flipping them over in a smooth move that left her breathless. “Let them wait.”_

She was breathless again now as he turned to her with another brilliant smile, his cuffs impeccable and his lapels pristine. “Ready, love?” he asked.

She nodded. By some miracle they were _almost_ on time, strains of recorded harp music just beginning to drift up from below.

“You look good,” she said, as they moved to the door.

“Only good?” he repeated with exaggerated mock-horror.

She rolled her eyes. “You _know_ what I mean.”

“Aye, I do. And might I say, love, that you also look good.”

“Well, good.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

She laughed. “Idiot.”

“You know it.” He offered her his arm and she took it, smiling up into his eyes. They were soft with love and so, so blue. “Well, then, Swan,” he said. “Let’s go tie some knots.”

~

Two weeks after that:

“Well, _I_ think they’re going to announce their engagement,” said Mary Margaret, taking a sip of her drink. She was sitting in a booth at her favourite bar, enjoying the bustle and noise of the place and the bite of alcohol on her tongue for the first time in months. Her eyes were carefully made up to conceal the dark smudges beneath them and she was desperately greedy for gossip. For any adult conversation, really. “Don’t you agree?” she encouraged.

Ruby and Mulan exchanged a glance. “I just don’t think Emma and Killian are ‘engagement party’ sort of people,” said Ruby, making quote marks in the air as she spoke.

“They’re not really ‘host a party’ sort of people,” David pointed out. “And yet…”

“This is true,” Ruby conceded. “But I still think if they got engaged they would just drop mentions of it casually into conversation and wait for us to notice.”

“Or wait until we noticed the ring,” said Mary Margaret.

“Sure,” said Ruby. “The ring.” She and Mulan exchanged another glance. Privately, Ruby didn’t think that Emma was really a ‘big engagement ring’ sort of person either, but Mary Margaret had very traditional ideas of romance.

“Are _you_ okay with this, David?” Mulan asked. “With Emma getting engaged to Killian, I mean.”

“Yeah, of course,” said David with a tight smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re looking a little tense, is all.”

“I just can’t believe that _all_ of you knew something was going on with them—”

“Oh here we go again,” sighed Mary Margaret.

“—and you didn’t think to even _mention_ it to me!”

Mulan shrugged. “Sorry?” 

“We didn’t know, not really,” said Ruby soothingly, shooting her wife a glare. “We just suspected Killian had feelings.”

“So did you, if you remember,” Mary Margaret retorted. “You knew he had a secret girlfriend, it just never occurred to you that she might be Emma.”

“And that is exactly why someone should’ve _told_ me!” David thundered. “She’s my _sister!_ ”

“Which is why _you_ should have noticed when she started sleeping with your best friend!” Mary Margaret snapped. “I can’t open your eyes for you, David. I can’t see the obvious for you. There are some things that you _just_ have to manage for yourself.”

David pressed his fingers against his eyes. “Is this about the diapers again?”

“Of course not,” replied Mary Margaret, in a tone of voice that said plainly that yes, it was in fact about the diapers. “We’re having a nice night out, the first one since Leo was born, I don’t want to talk about the diapers. I want to drink alcohol and gossip about people who still have things in their lives like sleep and sex.”

“Well, we still—” Mulan began, then scowled when Ruby kicked her under the table.

“Oh look!” said Ruby in a loud voice. “There’s Graham! Maybe he knows what’s up with Emma and Killian. Graham! Hey!” She waved her hand in the air. “Graham! Over here!”

“Hi guys,” Graham greeted them, smiling widely but waving away David’s offer of a chair. “What’s going on?”

“Do you know anything about this party of Emma and Killian’s?” asked Mary Margaret eagerly.

“Um, I know they’re having one. August and I will be there.” He frowned as he surveyed their faces. “Is there something else to know?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit strange?” Mary Margaret pressed. “They moved in together two years ago and since then they’ve barely had anyone over to their place. Now all of a sudden they’re throwing a huge party?”

“No,” said Graham. “Why is that strange?”

“Just that they must have a reason for wanting to bring everyone together. Like maybe so they can make a _special announcement?_ ”

“I don’t think they’re planning to have kids for a while yet—”

“Not a _baby!_ ” Mary Margaret shook her head indulgently as David looked alarmed. “An _engagement!_ ”

“Oh.” An odd look passed over Graham’s face. “No, I don’t think the party’s to announce their engagement.”

“Ah.” Mary Margaret deflated as Mulan’s eyes narrowed.

“Why are you looking furtive?” she asked.

“What?” Graham blinked in surprise. “I’m not.”

“You are,” she insisted. “That’s a furtive look if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Do you see many furtive looks?” inquired David.

“Yes,” said Mulan. “I’m a defence attorney.”

David nodded solemnly. “Well you can’t fault her authority, Humbert.”

“What does furtive actually mean?” asked Ruby.

“Stealthy,” replied Mulan. “Secretive.”

“Ah.” Ruby nodded “You do look a bit furtive, actually, Graham.”

“I—”

“He does, doesn’t he!” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

“I’m not—”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “Like maybe you know more than you’re letting on?”

“ _What_ do you know?” Mary Margaret nearly shrieked.

“I am _not_ furtive,” said Graham loudly, with a scowl that encompassed all of them. “And if you’re so desperate to know why Emma and Killian are having a party, why don’t you just ask _them?_ ” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” muttered Mary Margaret.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your fun, then,” said Graham. “ _If_ you’ll excuse me, my husband is waiting.”

He stalked away to the door where August was standing, just as it opened to admit Emma and Killian. The four of them exchanged greetings and some whispered words, and one or two _decidedly_ furtive glances at the booth in the corner. Graham and August took their leave and Emma and Killian went to take their seats in the booth.

“So,” said Killian. “What have you chaps been talking about?”

“I think you might be able to guess,” said Ruby.

He grinned. “That I might.”

Mary Margaret leaned over the table to fix them with a stern glare. “So are you going to tell us?” she demanded.

“Tell you what?” inquired Emma.

“Why you’re having a party.”

“Do we need a special reason?”

“ _Some_ people don’t need a special reason,” said Mary Margaret. “Some people host parties regularly. Me for instance. I have them all the time. Sometimes because it’s a holiday. Sometimes just because it’s Tuesday. But you two hermits on the other hand, _you_ need a better reason than that to let a crowd of people into your home. So what is it? Spill, before I drag it out of you.”

Emma and Killian exchanged a look. “Well, it looks like they’re on to us, Swan,” he remarked.

“Looks like.” She reached out and took his hand. “Should we just tell them, then?”

“You do the honours, love.”

Mary Margaret was all but quivering in anticipation, David and Ruby only slightly calmer. Even Mulan looked excited.

“Well you see, we’re—”

“Yes?!” squealed Mary Margaret.

“We’re buying a house!”

“Congratu— _what?_ ”

“We’re buying a house!” Emma repeated.

“You’re buying a _house_.”

“Yeah. Killian’s business has really taken off in the past year and I just got that promotion at work, so we figured now’s a good time.”

“That’s—that’s great!” said David. “Where is it?”

“It’s one of those older places near the water,” Killian replied. “Those Cape Cod ones I’ve always liked.”

“Ah, yeah.” David nodded, and a genuine smile creased his face. “You’ll like living there.”

“Aye, I think so.”

Mary Margaret recovered quickly from her disappointment. “Can we see it?” she asked.

“You can. You’ll all see it at the party—or sooner, if you’re free this weekend, Dave.” Killian gave them an innocent smile. “We were going to keep it as a surprise but since you rumbled us now you can help us move.”

“Great!” said David, holding his own smile though it had gone a bit stale around the edges. “We’d love to.”

“Love to,” echoed Mary Margaret.

Ruby grinned wickedly. “We’re busy,” she said.

~

And two weeks later still:

Considering they were not in the habit of throwing them, Emma and Killian’s party was a roaring success. The music was lively and the alcohol free-flowing, and their new house bright and airy and sporting a fresh coat of paint on the interior walls, courtesy of David and Killian’s efforts of the previous weekend. Guests mingled in the living room and spilled out onto the porch and into the back yard which boasted a fine view of the sea.

David and Mary Margaret were there of course, and Liam and Belle. Ruby and Mulan were accompanied by Ruby’s grandmother. Elsa had made a special trip home to attend it, and to be present at the birth of her niece or nephew—Anna was due any day, though she still managed to make an appearance at the party under Kristoff’s watchful eye. Will Scarlet was also there, staying for the week with Robin and Regina, much to Regina’s _utter_ delight. Graham and August were the last to arrive, along with Mary Margaret’s childhood friend Lance.

“Sorry we’re late,” said Graham, hugging Emma warmly as Killian shook Lance’s hand. “Lance had a flat tire so he called us for a lift.”

“No worries, mate,” said Killian. “Glad you’re here now. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” said Graham, and Lance nodded.

“Good,” said Killian. “Let’s do the thing.”

Lance turned the music down and Emma rapped on her wine glass with a spoon. “Hey, guys?” she called. “Can I just get your attention for a minute?”

Everyone gathered in the living room, turning curious and attentive gazes on her. Emma gulped—she wasn't the biggest fan of public speaking—and reached for Killian, who took her hand and gave it a squeeze. She drew a deep breath and relaxed, smiling at him.

“So we know you all are expecting some sort of announcement from us,” she said, turning her attention back to the assembled crowd. A chorus of mutterings rose up, largely in agreement. “Well, I’m sorry to have to disappoint you but we’re not engaged or expecting a baby.” 

“Frankly, we thought the announcement of the new house would be enough for you vultures,” Killian added.

“Right? It’s a big deal, and we hoped you’d be a little more excited.”

“We are excited, honey,” said Mary Margaret. “We just—well, we were thinking it might be something different, that’s all. But we really are happy for you.”

“Yeah, we are.” David agreed, and the muttered chorus rose again. 

“Well,” said Emma, “That's good. I hope you'll stay that way. Because though we're not engaged or pregnant, we _do_ actually have one more tiny thing we'd like to announce.”

Killian slipped his arm around her waist. “Are you sure, love? We could still just keep it between us.”

She nodded. “I think we have to tell them. Mary Margaret might not survive otherwise.”

“Aye, good point.”

“Hey!” protested Mary Margaret, as David nodded sagely.

“You’re not wrong,” he said.

“So what’s the bloody announcement?” demanded Will, and the chorus muttered in support.

Emma and Killian exchanged a smile, then turned back to their audience. “So as you know, Killian and I aren’t the biggest fans of weddings,” she said.

“Especially not after that hell you lot put us through two years ago,” he added.

“Yeah, seriously, I still can’t eat a piece of cake without flashbacks.”

“It’s made birthday celebrations a real ordeal.”

“All right, all right,” scoffed Will, as the chorus began to grumble. “Make your point.”

“So after all of that we really didn’t want to have a big wedding of our own,” Emma continued. “That’s never been what either of us wanted, anyway. So instead we—well, we—”

“We got Lance to marry us at the Seadrift Inn last month,” Killian supplied.

There was a moment of complete silence, then the chorus became a cacophony.

“You got married and didn’t tell me?” shouted David above the din, as Mary Margaret spun around to smack Lance on the arm.

“You married them and didn’t tell me?” she cried.

“They swore me to secrecy!” protested Lance.

“Didn’t you need a witness?” asked Mulan.

“Graham was our witness,” Killian replied.

“Since he was basically the whole reason we managed to get together in the first place,” added Emma. “And because we knew he could keep a secret.”

“So that’s why you were looking furtive!” Ruby exclaimed. “You _knew_ they were married.”

“Sorry?” said Graham.

“But why didn’t you _tell_ us?” asked Mary Margaret.

“We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want it to be a huge deal,” said Emma. “Please, everyone, just listen. We knew you’d all want to be there for us, and it’s not that we didn’t want that or that we don’t appreciate it, it’s just that… I mean, you _know_ what you’re like, Mary Margaret! What all of you are like! You’d have had all these ideas for our wedding and we would have hated to say no to them, and pretty soon it would’ve grown into something we just didn’t want. We’re sorry, but also we’re really not. We want to _be_ married—we’re ready to make that commitment to each other, but we don’t want all the pomp and ceremony involved in _getting_ married. The wedding we had was perfect… perfect for us.”

“Aye, love,” Killian agreed. “It was.”

“But we still want you to know how important you are to us and how much we really do love all of you. So we decided to throw this party, to celebrate our marriage and our house and our future—and our friends.”

The chorus of voices broke out in _awwws_.

“And Mary Margaret, I’m even prepared to put my wedding dress on again and let you take pictures,” said Emma.

“Deal,” said Mary Margaret. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“So if that's all settled, can I ask you all to please raise your glasses,” said Killian, “I’d like to make a toast." He waited until all the glasses were raised. "To _being_ married, no matter how you get there," he said. "And to friends who nudge you in the right direction, even if it's one in which you might not want to go. To friends in general. To all of you. Cheers.”

“Cheers!” they all cried, to the tune of the tinkling of glasses.

“And cheers to you, my love,” Killian murmured, low for Emma’s ears alone. “To the rest of our lives.”

“To the rest of our lives,” she replied, and they drank the toast together.

—


End file.
